


Playlist For the Forsaken

by whipperschnapper



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Death, Digestion, Dismemberment, Don't Like Don't Read, Extended Violence, Eye Trauma, F/F, F/M, Fatal Vore, Flashbacks, Gen, Giant monsters, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Man-Eating Monsters, Neck trauma, Nightmares, Non-fatal vore, PTSD, Scars, Slow Burn, Soft Vore, Teeth & Fangs, Throat Trauma, Vore, child endangerment, extreme size difference, graphic gore, implied self harm, like really slow burn, safe vore, transgender character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-03-16 02:38:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13626819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whipperschnapper/pseuds/whipperschnapper
Summary: After spending their whole lives stuck in a dangerous society stuck beneath the thumb of vicious monsters, a small family of friends plan a daring escape. But when the day comes, two of them are killed as the rest watch in horror. Once outside, they wander for six years, searching for the day they can truly know the meaning of safety.Then one day the group's reluctant leader is captured by a duo of strange monsters. They don't seem to want to eat him--not yet, anyway--and they won't leave him alone.This is a story about losing hope, gaining hope, and finding safety in the strangeness of others.





	1. Pioneer

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: THIS IS A VENT FIC
> 
> This fic, if you have not read the tags, will not be good. And I mean that in the sense that if you have a kind heart and weak stomach, don't read. I'm serious. There will be extremely graphic details involving harm of both the physical and emotional sort, some of which will be happening to minors. This warning is specifically placed /here/ because any comments of the hateful variety will be ignored. Be responsible: Read at your own discretion. 
> 
> That being said, as far as chapters go, I will place additional, /defined/ warnings in the notes before each chapter so everyone knows what they're stepping into. I normally don't like reading this kind of stuff, and I'd hate if someone had a bad time because I was being careless.
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy, and please leave a comment.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNING: Implied Alcoholism

The sun was bright and careless as it shone on the metal rooftops, yet Jean Kirchstein still stared till his eyes burned. 

The sun crested the walls of Monsterland, giving the illusion they were made of some sort of liquid copper, but the world could only be so cruel as to plant the seed of hope. There was no melting those walls, no breaking them. The only ones who could get past them were monsters, and Jean - fortunately and  _un_ fortunately - was not a monster.

The shadows grew as the day yawned, and soon all of Monsterland stirred, whirred, and ever-so-slowly came to life. It may have been beautiful, if it wasn't bad news.

Jean prayed to the only rendition of a god he knew that he would get home safely, and that his family would as well. There was no discernible answer, as the only rendition of a god he knew was silent, a usual for Jean.

He slid into the shadows, became part of them, and slithered away. He held his breath when a monster passed overhead, a skill his late father had taught him during one of few moments when he was lucid, and Jean adjusted his backpack.

He still remembered how the stink of burning flesh once enticed him as a child, but now his stomach was in knots. Ever since the day his mother scolded him for speaking his thoughts, when he unknowingly struck a nerve just days after her own sister was Taken, did Jean learn that that lovely smell was not lovely at all, but horrifying. It was sickening, and Jean couldn't stomach the idea of  _looking_ at cooked meat afterward.

But monsters could be avoided if you were fast enough, quiet enough. And Jean was. He melted into buildings, melded with the flow of foot-traffic and shadows, until he came upon a crumbling complex that was massive to him, yet unobtrusive to the monsters. There was a weathered patch on the south side of the building, where some monsters liked to lean against it or run their massive claws along the top, and it was the only area of the whole complex which was not occupied.

He took the innermost staircase two at a time till his heart thumped in his ears, and moved down the hall silent as a gust of air. He walked until his ears pricked up, until the smooth picking of an old guitar could be heard through the walls.

It was only then that Jean stopped and listened. For once, it wasn't the bated kind of listening that comes with an approaching predator, but merely the listening of someone who wanted to savor the moment for himself.

The gentle strumming didn't stop when he opened the door, but the boy hunched over the couch with his long legs propped on the would-be coffee table glanced over his shoulder, and gave Jean a gentle smile. 

"Welcome back," Marco hummed.

Just seeing him felt like coming home, and Jean let his backpack slide from his shoulders. He set it on the floor by the door without a sound, and sauntered up to the tiny couch, sitting beside Marco so close their thighs were pressed together. His head rested on Marco's shoulder, and he watched without a word as the other's fingers glided over the neck of the guitar, so gentle with the strings and so practiced. Marco liked country music, something Jean didn't mind in the slightest, and he hummed the melody to a song he'd come up on his own.

"This is where you'll whistle," Marco said, and his fingers strummed their way into a bridge, but the note was too high for Jean to reach. "Harmonizing of course," he added with a grin before Jean could say anything. "And Connie comes in here. Sasha here."

There was something so wonderful in the way he played, the way he sang. For sixteen years they'd known each other, and six they'd been in love, and somehow Marco made it so much easier to come home and forget the horrors of the world for a few hours each night. 

"Where is everyone, anyway?" Jean murmured after a long time of nothing but listening. Normally there was at least two others in the apartment, but Marco was alone this evening, or it seemed that way.

"Bar," Marco nodded, and his eyes fell closed. "Eren's in bed. Mikasa, work. Everyone else went out for one last hoorah."

Those words were so gentle, yet held so much meaning. Marco almost whispered them for fear speak of leaving would bring the monsters right to them. It sounded so significant backed by his guitar, like a smooth soundtrack to his life story. 

This was the climax. This was the moment when everything seemed so dark, but tomorrow night would be the killer, when death nipped at their heels for miles until they were out of Monsterland and into freedom. This was the scariest part: the waiting for it all to begin.

"Did you grab you saber?" Marco wondered.

Jean hesitated only a short moment before reaching forward with his left hand, and unsheathing the glimmering blade strapped to his thigh. It wasn't really a saber, things like that were banned in Monsterland, but it was the longest a blade could be. 

Nearly a foot, not including the hilt, and almost as wide as Jean's palm. When he first started on the thing, he thought the plans would make it too big, but the smooth curving of the blade made it fold into his leg, undetectable next to his heavy work pants. 

"It's pretty," Marco hummed, and his fingers slowly stopped their strumming until the room was almost silent.

Jean looked at the saber. He'd named her Maria, after his mother, and she  _was_ beautiful. He then glanced at Marco, cheek resting on the other's shoulder still. "You are, too."

Marco smiled as he often did when Jean was involved, and looked at him as best he could. Their faces were centimeters apart. 

"Thank you, dearly," Marco grinned, and pecked Jean once.

* * *

The bar mentioned did not deserve suck a generous title. All it was was two humans who made it their sole purpose in life to smuggle as much booze as they could get their hands on and share it with the masses. "The world is going out," the two of them said so often that's what people called the place. "May as well have fun on the way down."

 _Going Out_ caught on, but that last bit, when they said "on the way down" hit a little too close to home for everyone. Maybe that was the point, to make everyone a little more eager to slug one down. "May as well. You might die tomorrow," they'd slur to themselves. There was something sick about it, and at the same time they were thick as thieves. There wasn't a human in all of Monsterland who would turn away another human in need. They had to stick together because the world was going out.

And so it became custom. This single space in the complex became known as  _Going Out_ , and the coined phrase which was on everyone's lips "May as well!"

 _May as well_ drink yourself into oblivion! _May as well_ sing the whole way there!  _May as well_ let a couple of kids come in here and strum some instruments until they got a hang of it!

_May as well!_

Jean always sat in the back, and Marco always in the front. The "stage" he had was just stacked plywood, barely six inches up, but it may as well ( _may as well!_ ) have been ten feet the way the regulars listened to him. There were no amps or mics, just voice. People stomped their feet for bass, and Jean got to watch it all as his little star lit up the room and made things okay, forgettable, for a little while.

Sasha was there tonight, and Connie, and Armin, but he was in the back with Jean mixing drinks.

"Can't wait to hear them out in the open," Armin murmured for only Jean to hear, like it was some secret that they were leaving. "Can you imagine the acoustics in a canyon?"

Jean nodded and sipped his water. He'd never been too keen on liquor, at least not the hard stuff. "Or a boat on the water."

Armin sighed and passed a metal stein to a woman who wasn't past thirty and had already been married four times. Not that she didn't love her husbands, just that monsters did too.

"It's a shame Eren isn't here," Jean sighed, and swirled his cup. "They're playing his favorites tonight."

Armin sighed and shook his head. "Eh, he wasn't feeling good after work. Menstrual pains, I think."

Jean cringed. "Was he sick at work?"

Armin merely shook his head.

"You think he'll be able to make it tomorrow?"

Armin glanced up in shock, and his dirty blond hair fell in his face. "Tell me if I'm wrong, Jean," Armin whispered warily, "but it sounds like you're having second thoughts."

Jean's lips pursed as he thought, and he shrugged once. "Of course I am."

Armin paused, and glanced around once. At Sasha and Marco harmonizing. At Connie sawing it out on his uncles old fiddle. At the crowd of worn souls trying to grab the last good available to them before hell came chomping after them. "We need you with us, Jean. You know that.  _Marco_ needs you."

Jean rolled his eyes. "He does not  _need_ anyone, Armin. He's a rock."

"A rock needs a foundation."

"A rock  _is_ a foundation," Jean reiterated with a frown. "And I'm not backing out, I'm just - I don't know. I've got a bad feeling."

Armin stared at him, a slow, knowing grin upturning his lips. "You  _always_ have a bad feeling."

Jean made a face at him, wrinkling his nose and mock laughing, but the feeling stayed. Even as he looked over his shoulder to the band offering a farewell concert. Even as Armin passed him a single shot that they knocked back together ( _may as well!_ ,) he felt that awful sinking in his gut like he'd eaten something unpleasant. Maybe he was getting sick, or there was something in the air. Maybe he'd be throwing up tonight.

Or maybe, just maybe, something bad really was going to happen to them tomorrow.

* * *

 The night was no longer young when they all got back, but no one was complaining. They all had grown used to only so many hours asleep.

"I'm bringing my fiddle," Connie announced as they piled into the living room, their blankets bunched together in a nest. "And I want to bring your guitar, too," he said to Marco specifically.

They all were there, even Mikasa and Eren, who had both been asleep when the others got in. Eren looked a little worse for wear, but he wasn't one to complain in the company of friends. He had his hair pushed back, and his head rested on his sisters shoulder. He blinked owlishly, like he might drop at any moment, but he didn't. He stayed awake just as the rest of them did.

"We should bring marshmallows for a campfire," Sasha whispered excited. "As a celebratory feast for when we're outside the territory."

Jean shook his head. "No fire."

She rolled her eyes. "Then just marshmallows and some flashlights."

Connie made a noise. "What's the fascination with marshmallows?"

Sasha shrugged. "They just...sound really good."

Everyone stared at her, especially when she stared rubbing her stomach.

Eren was the first to speak. "You're not - "

Marco beamed, "Are you?"

Jean paled, but remained silent to Marco's left.

Sasha bit her lip, but she couldn't hide the smile on her face. She looked at Connie first, and they clasped hands. 

"We were going to wait until we were out to say anything, but I guess..."

"We're having a baby," Connie finished.

"I knew it," Mikasa whispered.

"Have you thought of names?"

"What do you think it is?"

"Have you been trying long?"

Each question was rapid fire, one right after the other. It was something that came with being a family; people spoke what others were thinking, and answered with what they knew. Soon the whole circle was close together, heads almost touching, and a gentle orange light poured from the window, but no one paid any mind. They were speaking, bonding, and all - even Jean - had bets placed on what the baby would be.

"I think it'll be a boy," Marco nodded matter-of-fact. "I feel it in my bones."

"No, it's a girl," Armin shook his head. "You can tell by the blood vessel in her eye."

"That's a hematoma," Eren argued. "It's gonna be a boy."

"They're gender fluid," Mikasa provided in an offhanded kind of way.

Sasha grinned at all of them, Connie rested his hand over her belly. Eren still leaned into his sister, and their hands were clasped. Armin's head tilted toward Connie's, and they conversed back and forth in low tones.

Marco's hand was twisted in Jean's, his thumb massaging slow circles into Jean's skin, and their heads tilted together. "It's a boy," Marco whispered, but only to Jean. "I know it is."

Jean listened, and savored the sound of his voice. He savored the feel of his skin on his, the feeling of warmth surrounding him. This might be his last time with his family, and he wanted to remember it like this. If he died tomorrow, he wanted this to be the last thing he thought of.

Jean didn't anticipate that, of everyone that was to die the next day, he was not one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry. It gets worse.
> 
> ["Pioneer"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Z8OP8LIHho)


	2. Take Me Home, Country Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little kids with Big Dreams get those dreams crushed. Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING: Fatal Vore, Dismemberment, Crushing, Non-Consensual Kissing, and Gore. Jean also lets his ableist flag fly for a moment.

The ghoulish moan of metal on metal awoke Jean in the morning, and he held his breath on instinct. It was silent for a long time before, finally, the complex shuddered again, accompanied by the muffled sound of a struggle. Someone had been caught out before curfew was lifted, and Jean hoped the struggle was the result of another human sneaking up on them and taking them inside, but it was doubtful.

He'd trained himself so that he didn't have to breathe as often as others, and five minutes had nearly passed before he allowed himself to suck in some air.

The room only had about half the amount of people in it as it had the night before, and they were all still sleeping. Or, at least pretending.

Eren had his head pillowed in his arms, sprawled on his stomach with Connie's head resting on his backside. Neither much cared for blankets, so the only thing covering either was the clothes they had fallen asleep in, and Sasha's sweater gripped in Connie's left fist. Forget stuffed animals, Connie liked sleeping with what he called Wife Mementos. 

Armin was the only one on a couch, curled into a neat little ball on his side with a thin afghan tucked around his shoulders.

And then there was Jean.

His neck hurt from sleeping in an upright position, but he was warm thanks to the old jacket Marco had left for him. It still smelled like Marco, and Jean was conspicuous to sneak a quick sniff. There was sweat, and soap, and something earthy and warm that was specifically  _Marco._

A small smile lifted the corners of Jean's mouth, and his hands found their ways to the pockets.

He paused when his right hand grazed the corner of something in his pocket, and was sure everyone else was still asleep before slipping the piece of paper out for inspection.

It was an index card, three by five inches, folded in half. The curling letters on the other side had pressed through, and that grin remained planted on Jean's lips as he unfolded it and read Marco's neat cursive.

_Be back in a while! I love you!_

Jean read it over and over, his fingers tracing the smooth lines of blue ink. There was a slight smudge on one of the exclamation points where Marco's hand slid across it before the ink was properly dried, but it was perfect in the same way Marco was. He didn't write in cursive because he felt he had something to prove, to show how much more civilized he was than others, but because he was so much lazier than others. He didn't have time to lift his pen between letters, so he let them all run together like cars on a train.

Jean replaced the card, folded, in the bill trap of his wallet, and he felt the warmth of the message burn into his right thigh as he got ready for work.  _I love you too, Marco Bodt,_ Jean thought.  _And I will kiss you the moment you get back_.

Jean's job did not count as a job to most people, and it definitely didn't offer any kind of life insurance in exchange for what he did with his day, but he was good at it, and it got bread on the table in any case. He was a part of a group of five, who snuck into monster households and salvaged.

They stayed clear of food, as humans were a staple among monsters, and because most humans didn't even bother with meat anymore. There was no telling where it came from, what it  _really_ was, and the smell put most off anyway. 

Jean was a metallurgist; it was how he managed to salvage so enough silver to make a saber for him, Marco, and Sasha without others noticing. He made money for his trade not because he was the only one capable of stealing a good amount of metal, but he was one of few who could do it more than twice without getting caught. The key, he found, was to act like every time was his first time. It wasn't hard: the fear of being caught and remembering others caught was renewed each time he donned his dark clothing, and again when he stepped into the open area of a monster-owned room.

There were five on this excursion today: Jean, another boy named Duncan, a girl named Billy, her sister Mila, and a senior salvager who simply went by Rickets. He wasn't cut out for the actual salvaging anymore - not since he lost eyesight in one eye due to a nasty fall a few years ago - but the guy new every house plan by heart. He was their eyes, even if he didn't have both of his.

"All right, kiddos," Rickets began in a voice heavily accented with something even he didn't know the origins of. "We have more than usual today. I want you all to go second floor, then split up." He set a curling map before all of them, and Jean made quick to memorize the orientation first, then the light green line traced through the wall plan. They would be walking right past the kitchen, a high danger area.

"Schmitz, I want you and your sister to head up with Kirchstein and Duncan," Rickets would have addressed Duncan by a surname, but the boy didn't have one. "When you get here" - he tapped at the map, at a conjunction where the green line banked left, and a red line went the other direction - "Split off with Duncan and head for a room on the west side with a large safe inside. Our scavengers from last night should have left a ring, some pins, and some studs for you. Grab them and leave. When you get back here, take the electrical circuit down to the basement. I'll there for recon." Rickets turned to Jean, his right eye not quite focusing on him. "There's aluminum and nickel for you in the cupboard."

Jean nodded.

The group set out a little after noon, when the monster rush for food was starting, and scaled tunnels for nearly an hour before anyone spoke. 

"I don't know about you guys," Duncan whispered. He wasn't the brightest, but he wasn't foolish. "But I've just about had it with this gig."

Billy, who walked in the middle with her sister, stared at the back of his head. "What do you mean?"

Duncan was quiet for a long time, but Jean knew what he meant. Salvaging was a good life plan as much as flinging yourself off a cliff was a good way to test if you can fly. After a year or so, the perks paled. Sure, you got the pick of the crop, but so did the monsters that found you. Aluminum shavings were pretty useless when you're stuck between rows of teeth the size of your head.

"I think I'm gonna retire after this," Duncan said. It sounded like he'd made up his mind in that moment, and he nodded. "This'll be my last excursion."

Billy was in control of her actions enough not to cry out, but she felt like it. Oh, how she felt like it. Duncan was one of the best there was. Without him, her and her sister's apartment would have been ripped to shreds by now. "Why would you want to leave? It's not so bad. Right, Jean?" She looked over her shoulder at him, her bright eyes pleading with him to support her.

Only, he couldn't. He liked Billy, really. She was a good worker, and where she fell short in talent, she made up for in drive and natural wit. She was well on her way to becoming one of the good ones herself. But Jean couldn't find it in him to lie for her benefit. He remained silent, listening.

"We need you, Duncan," Billy whispered, pleading. She turned back to him in the darkness. "You know less and less people are salvaging nowadays. The demand is growing, and so are the perks."

"Perks won't do you any good if you're dead!" Duncan snapped, and they all froze. 

Jean sucked in a breath and held it on instinct.  _They can't smell you if you don't let them,_ his father's voice whispered in his head. He could feel the rank breath of a monster behind him, but he'd remembered this scene enough to know it wasn't happening in real time.  _Just hold your breath, son. Hold your breath and let god know you still believe in him._

He'd been ten, and it was just a month before his mother was killed, before his father turned useless and only drank.

It was his first salvage, and his dad crafted a bracelet of nickel for him in honor of his survival. Jean still wore to the day, and his skin was near permanently colored green.

The walls groaned in real time, and each human flattened themselves against the tunnel's edges. A sniffle to Jean's right alerted him that Mila was already crying with fear.

They couldn't be certain if the noise was just the house settling, or if there really was a monster with its ear pressed to the wall, but they treated it like the latter. For nearly a minute they all stood still as statues before slowly, carefully, melting away from the walls and continuing on their way. They'd made it about a hundred yards before Duncan spoke up for the last time, soft and over his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," was all he said.

No one replied. Jean was listening, and Billy reassuring her sister.

Eventually, they made it to the kitchen, and their steps only grew lighter. When they made it to the break-off point - marked with a single glow stick placed on the ground, Duncan came to a halt, and Billy stooped down to her sister. She made promises, kissed her cheeks, and smoothed her hair down. 

Duncan looked at the map he'd hastily scribbled across his palms. "All right. This shouldn't take more than an hour or two - "

That horrible groaning came again, and this time, a section of the wall was pulled away by some unseen force. Duncan shrunk against the opposite wall of the tunnel to avoid it, but it was too late.

"I  _thought_ I heard something!" A heavy voice bellowed. "Y'all had me thinking I was crazy!"

The light of day blinded Jean, and he stumbled back, shielding his eyes. Mila screamed, and his arm sprung out around her neck, his other hand clapping over her mouth to keep her quiet.

Duncan was frozen until a wall of flesh reached into the wall, and he sprung into action, reaching for the others to yank him to safety. 

Again, he was just a second too late.

"Where do you think you're going?" that same voice asked. At the same moment that wall of skin, that  _hand_ , caught hold of Duncan and pulled him away, he made one final reach for his group.

His hand tangled in Billy's hair, and she went back with him, screeching like something Jean wished he never had to hear again.

Mila cried against his hand, struggled against his hold, but he'd be damned if he let her have the same fate as her sister. He stayed in the darkness, far enough that the monster couldn't see Mila's legs kicking out.

"Oh-ho! Two for the price of one!"

Billy kicked and yanked at her hair for Duncan to let her go, but his hand was frozen on her. The monster holding him had pry the two apart, and Billy screamed again as a handful of her shiny, blonde hair remained in Duncan's fist. Panic settled into her legs at the feeling of such large fingers wrapping around her waist, and Duncan and Billy both struggled to be let loose.

This monster was blond, and his pale green eyes flicked between his catch, deciding which looked better, which would last longer, but his mind was made up for him when Duncan pushed at his thumb, scratched his skin, and fought with all he was worth.

"God, I love when they fight," the monster moaned, and opened his mouth wide.

Duncan shrieked as his head was shoved into the monster's mouth, his face drenched in hot saliva. He was stuck between fangs and a tongue, before a throat and stomach. He was about to die.

More of him was shoved inside, savored, until only his body from the waist down was not soaked. The monster sucked on him, so no drool would spill past his lips as he studied Billy. That massive tongue rolled, pushing Duncan into the side of his cheek. He sucked while he thought, unconscious, like somebody would suck a piece of candy while they worked.

"You're one of the pretty ones, aren't you?" the monster wondered with a kind of haunting, gentle grin, entirely unfazed by the pair of legs struggling between his lips. His words fell on deaf ears as Billy continued to struggle. He brushed her hair away with his free hand, brought her closer to his face. "Yeah, you are. I might just save you for later."

His tongue rolled again, unhedged Duncan from his cheek. Duncan himself hit his fists into the monster's hard palate like it would do anything.

The monster sucked on him again, his eyes rolling, before his jaw slowly flexed, and Duncan's screamed turned anguished.

Jean swore he could hear the crunch of bones, and finally Mila stopped her struggling, falling shocked instead. He took the opportunity. "If you don't want to end up like him," Jean breathed into her ear. "You'll hold your breath."

But Billy was screaming. She could only watch and scream as Duncan's legs flailed before, finally, there was a sickening  _pop!_ and then stopped moving all together. 

The monster's jaws didn't stop there. They crushed down on Duncan, cutting him in pieces for easier swallowing, and the monster reached up to grab Duncan's legs before they fell. Somewhere inside him, Duncan was still howling in pain.

The distinct smell of blood poured from his mouth, dripping and warm and fresh when he grinned at Billy. She was crying now, begging.  _Pleading._

"Please!" Billy sobbed. "I-I have a sister! She's so young, I'm the only one to take care of her! Please, let me go! I have to take care of her!"

The monster ignored her, or at least seemed to. He contemplated the last half of Duncan before shrugging and swallowing that too. It wasn't as good as the first half - the  _scared_ half - but it was easier to get down.

Then those pea-green eyes moved to Billy again, and he smiled that chilling smile again. "It's nothing personal, sweetheart," he promised. He brought Billy closer again, his lips still stained with Duncan's blood. He kissed Billy's face in a way that might've been gentle, but she was smothered, her skin and hair stained with blood when he finally let off. "And there's always the hope that she'll be as pretty as her big sister."

The monster reached for Billy again, like when he brushed the hair from her face. He grabbed her head between his thumb, index, and middle finger, and pulled.

Billy screamed and fought against his fingers, against the strain and tear in her neck, until she felt something pop at the base of her neck. All feeling fizzled out, her arms going limp, and Billy slumped forward. Her eyes were still open. All she could do was stare now.

 _Let's hope she's dead,_ Jean thought, and started back into the darkness.

Mila was frozen, silent, and didn't fight where he pulled her along.

But Billy  _was_ still alive. She was still alive when her sister had to leave her and when the monster kissed her face a second time, grinning where he got his first taste of her.

And Billy was still alive when, eventually, long after Duncan's screams had stopped, the monster decided to swallow her whole, too.

* * *

 Mila didn't stay in shock for long. In fact, Jean wished she would have stayed shocked and silent for just five minutes longer. Then she'd be Rickets' problem and he could go home and forget about all he just witnessed. The sound of Duncan's back snapping crunched all through his head, and the sight of Billy with all that blood on her face brought bile to Jean's mouth.

"W-we," Mila started weakly. She didn't hold Jean's hand, but didn't fight when his hand latched to her wrist. Her legs felt like jelly. "We gotta go back." Her voice was like air. It had the potential to be strong enough to knock a person over, but now it was hollow and soft. "Billy's - my sister could still be alive! We have to go back for her!"

Jean's hand tightened on her wrist, and he picked up the pace. "We can't," he growled.

"Yes we can!" Mila fought, but his grip was like iron. "You saw! She was still alive! We have to go back and save her!"

Jean whirled around, and without thinking first, struck Mila with a strong hand. The girl cried out and stumbled, gripping her cheek.

"And what happens then?" Jean demanded harshly. "Let's entertain the thought that you can get her without being killed yourself. What next? Her neck was  _broken_ , Mila. She was paralyzed." He shook his head, voice lowering. "There's no way you could get her out by yourself. Even with me. That's not even taking into account how hard it'd be to take care of her afterward. She'd die anyway without proper care."

Mila sniffled, clutching her cheek. She hugged herself, trembling like she might fall apart if she let go even a little bit. "S-she was the only thing I had," Mila stuttered. "I'm nothing without her. I'll die, too."

Jean stared at her before taking a sure step toward her. She didn't even flinch. "No you won't," Jean said in a hard voice. "You'll survive. You learn from this, and make yourself better."

Mila blinked at him through the tears, still trembling, still feeling smaller than ever. She let herself look over her shoulder. Once.

When she looked back, she was sobbing more than before despite how hard she tried to stay silent. She reached for Jean's hand.

He took it, and the two didn't look back again.

* * *

The loss of Duncan and Billy wasn't forgotten by the time Jean made his way back home in the early evening, but he'd managed to at least push it away so it wasn't all he thought of. If he was to be good tonight, if they were to make it out in one piece, he had to have a clear head. 

He didn't feel heavy as he climbed the steps of the complex. In fact, he felt as though he'd float away if someone didn't grab him soon. He didn't even have his key turned in the lock before the door flung open and a teary Marco stared at him. His hair was tousled, and the water in his eyes threatened to spill over if he so much as blinked.

Marco breathed out a choked sob before he did just as Jean needed, and brought him back to the ground. He hugged him, crushed him to his chest, and kissed his face.

"I was so scared it was you," Marco sniffed.

Jean was too numb, so Marco cried on his behalf. "It wasn't."

"Oh, god, Jean. I'm so happy we're getting out of here," Marco couldn't let him go, swayed back and forth till he got his fill of the other. "We're gonna find another colony and live the rest of our lives away from Monsterland."

Jean wished he was as optimistic as Marco about all this. He ignored the dead while Marco honored them, he made himself better on their behalf. Jean just tried to work past it, the epitome of self-serving.

"What time are we setting out again?" Jean wondered past the sinking in his stomach. He could convince himself it was because he saw Duncan's legs not connected to the rest of him. It wasn't that hard. "I have to get packed."

Marco shook his head. "I already got everything you need. I was stressed when I got home, so I did it all myself."

It was something he did when he was stressed, always had. He needed to focus on something else or he'd worry himself sick. That's why his aunt suggested guitar to him as a boy. "You can channel your nerves into the chords, make something beautiful of them," she'd said, and she was right. Marco loved his guitar, loved singing and serenading. There was so much to be done with it.

When his mother fell sick with pneumonia, he wrote a song for her, and she felt better when she heard it. When Jean came to him, crying his eyes out when Jean was sixteen and Marco was fifteen, Marco wrote a song for him, and the two had loved each other since. There was very little a good song and a good voice couldn't cure. 

The fear of losing everything he loved was one of those few things.

So, what did Marco do to distract himself instead? He folded Jean's laundry until he came home, then he held Jean until it was time for them all to meet up.

It was the small hours, though not the smallest. Around four or five in the morning when shadows were still plentiful, but most monsters were well on their way to bed. Even they didn't stay out that late.

Armin was the one they all could thank that no one got lost. How many nights he'd gone without sleeping the last few months didn't matter because they could  _see_ in the dark thanks to the goggles he'd made. Really, only three pairs were finished, but it was more than enough. Marco, Armin, and Connie all saw best with their eyes, but Mikasa, Jean, and Sasha were listeners. 

Marco's heart beat in his throat, but it was the most excited he'd been in a long time. His hand was tight on Jean's, bruising probably, but so was Jean's. They'd bruise each other, and then kiss them better once they were free, once the world was no longer limited to the copper walls of Monsterland.

"Let's find a lake," Marco whispered, and it could have been only to himself. Even the guitar strapped to his back was silent as the grave. "So big you can't even see to the other side. Maybe in the mountains. Let's make a treehouse."

"Do you know how to make a treehouse?" Connie whispered back to him. "Or climb a tree for that matter?"

Marco grinned, and pointed his glasses at Connie. "Learning is the fun part."

"Shh-shh," Jean's arm sprung out and stopped Marco from walking on, and not a second too late. Right where Marco would be standing was suddenly over trodden by enormous boots as a monster walked right past them and didn't even know it. "Keep your voices down."

Marco swallowed, hesitated, before turning to Jean and kissing his hand. He managed a charming smile, if a little wobbly. "Thanks for looking out for me, dearly."

Jean was all seriousness, but he still kissed Marco back. "Of course."

They fell silent again, the only sound the gentle padding of feet across the packed dirt for about two miles.

Making it to the gate was like making it to heaven. Sasha could scarcely control her breathing she was so overwhelmed, and a certain bittersweetness coated their tongues. From this moment on it would just be the seven of them for who knows how long. They'd hunt their food, grow it. They'd be able to eat meat and know exactly what it was and where it came from.

Jean pulled out the map he'd gotten from Rickets, the thing which inspired it all, and Marco gave him the glasses. The grainy green was hard to adjust to, but it _was_ easier to see with them on.

"The tunnel opening should be just ahead. Marco and I will go forward first; you guys wait until I flash the signal." His stomach was a twisting mess, so nervous was he, but he swallowed it down. He could do this. They all could. "We're getting out of here. Tonight."

Cheering felt appropriate, but none did. They only smiled excitedly, and sniffed on Marco and Sasha's end, before Marco wiped his eyes and took a breath, and he and his dearly slipped out into the open.

It was so silent a feather-drop would sound like an explosion, and eerie enough that rolling fog wouldn't feel out of place. They held their breath, and they held hands, and it was like the world had gone deaf for a few seconds. Seven, to be exact.

The eighth second could have been a real explosion, as that was what it felt like a voice like a jet engine revving sprung to life overhead.

Jean thought his stomach couldn't sink any lower. Now it plummeted straight to the ground.

"I'll give you credit for making it this far, little beans," that same voice rumbled.

The thing with monsters was they could be be just as shifty as humans. They could see and hear better, and sit still for hours, petrified like statues until the right opportunity to strike. And this one had done just that.

Something crashed before Marco and Jean, but it was too dark to see what. A hand maybe?

"Now, you're lucky I'm feeling generous and that I had a big meal tonight, or you boys would dead already." It had a strange accent, almost like Jean's, with soft 'now's and hard 'or's. "So, what'll it be? Who's gonna over themselves to Chiron so their friends get to the underworld?"

Marco and Jean were still as stone, and Jean's hand was so tight on Marco's wrist he knew there'd be a nasty bruise later. How did it  _know_? How did it know there wasn't just the two of them? Who let out a breath?

The monster sounded bored, tired. "I'm into ladies, too, if that makes the decision easier."

"That son of a bitch," Eren spat on the ground.

He could almost feel as the monster's eyes flicked to him in the shadows. "Cool it, girlie, or it'll be you whether you want it to be or not."

Mikasa stepped before her brother instinctively, and Eren snarled to get past. 

The monster chuckled, and the sound was like smoke: stifling, all around them.

"Now, boys, where were we?" it said, and that voice was closer, like it was kneeling on the ground before them. "Ah, yeh," it hummed. "One a ya's comin' home with me tonight. And I want you to choose who it's gonna be."

 _No,_ Jean thought.  _No, no. He'll choose himself. He's gonna choose himself._

"Don't you fucking dare, Marco Bodt." He turned to him. "Don't you  _fucking_ dare."

Marco was shaking, staring the monster in the face. He lifted his goggles onto his head, but that face was still imprinted at the forefront of his mind. He didn't want to think of it as he turned to Jean, tears swelling in his eyes. "You say that like I have a choice."

"You  _do_ ," Jean insisted. His hands slapped on Marco's face. "You do. You have all the fucking choice in the fucking world." 

Marco loved when Jean let himself be passionate. Too bad this was the last he'd ever see of the fire in his eyes, and it wasn't even properly light outside to get the full effect. His hand reached up, touched Jean's, and he soaked in that clammy warmth he loved so much. 

"I'm so sorry, dearly."

His hand clamped down on Jean's, and he twisted his body so that he stood behind Jean, using his arm wedged backwards to control him. 

"I love you so much, Jean."

"Stop! Stop, Marco!"

He didn't listen. He pressed Jean's hand forward until he was on his knees in pain, then shoved his hand forward fast. There was a muffled pop, and Jean screamed. Marco let him have his hand back, Jean cradling his wrist to his chest, before turning back to the monster. He unclipped his backpack and let it slide from his shoulders and settle in the dirt beside Jean. "Take care of my guitar, will you?" he gasped for Jean. "It was my dad's."

The others could only watch as he faced that monster, and Jean crumpled injured in the dirt.

"I choose myself," Marco announced, and Sasha broke down. She gasped, screamed. She and Eren tried to break free to pull him back into the safety of the shadows, but what about Jean? Not to mention how Connie, Armin, and Mikasa had formed a human fence around them.

"Marco Bodt, you piece of shit!"

He swallowed his tears hearing her call him that, but Marco refused to look behind him.

"Your friends don't seem like they'll miss you too bad," the monster pointed out. "Maybe this is for the best."

Marco didn't answer. He braced himself.

His world rocked when something tugged at his ankle, and he looked down to Jean. It was one of the few times Jean ever had tears in his pretty amber eyes, one of the few times he'd ever broken his facade of indifference and let his real emotions show.

"Please," he sobbed. "Please, don't go."

Marco couldn't stand seeing him like that, broken because of him. He crouched before Jean, and kissed his forehead. Touching him made it harder to let go, to face the darkness, and those tears finally spilled over.

Especially when something grabbed him from behind and lifted him from the ground. Marco yelped once, fear flashing on his face in the dark.

Jean held him for as long as he could, until his broken wrist lanced with the pain and he  _had_ to let go. He watched, breaking as Marco struggled weakly. He prayed to god that it would be quick, that it wouldn't be like Duncan and Billy, that Marco could go in peace like he deserved.

God, as he normally was when it concerned Jean, was silent.

And Marco, for all he was worth, couldn't go in total silence as he wanted. Just as the monster's hand fell away and he was lain out in nothing but a mouth, shoved to the back of a throat, he let out a frightened cry of a mere twenty-year old boy who didn't want to die.

The monster swallowed with some difficulty, and sighed when he finally got him down.

Jean couldn't stop shaking, could look at nothing but the dirt between his hands.

"I don't feel like turning you guys in," the monster said, slouching back into the darkness. "Now," he sighed. "Run along before I change my mind."

He belched, sucking on his teeth.

Jean felt sick, but...what else could he do? It wasn't like they could turn back, especially not since someone died that they could keep going. They  _had_ to keep going now.

Jean pushed to his feet with difficulty, and grabbed Marco's bag with his good hand. He'd never realized how heavy his guitar was. It weighed him down.

He swallowed, or tried to, and spoke. "Thank you, sir." He turned to the rest of his group, sickened, but not stupid enough to sacrifice themselves for something that would probably be their ultimate demise in the end, anyway, and beckoned them to follow. They were slow to move, but they came, they followed, and they were almost free.

"Travel safely, little beans," the monster chuckled behind them.

He was mocking them. He'd ripped a hole through them all, and he was so cruel as to rub it in their faces.

Eren whipped around in a flash, his hair sliding from its ponytail, and reached for the dagger at his wait. He didn't know what he wanted to do with it, just that he wanted to see blood. 

"You son of a bitch!" he roared, and threw the dagger forward. It punctured the air, and another roar exploded behind them.

And in a moment the monster stood, towered over them, and Eren got what he wanted.

There was blood, his blood, and it spattered everywhere. But mostly on the bottom of the monster's shoe.

Mikasa screamed seeing her brother like that, losing him that fast, and tried to go after him too, but Jean was sick of the death. He'd seen so much of it in just one day. He'd lost his dearly, and now three different friends. He wasn't going to lose anymore. He hit Mikasa, probably harder than he should have, and she dropped like a sack of hammers. He already had two backpacks and a guitar - an increasingly heavy guitar - or he would have dragged her himself, but it was wearing him out. "Connie, Armin. Carry her. We're leaving."

He stormed forward, to the gate that was slowly waking with the dawn, and stood before the tunnel.

The monster still loomed ahead, a nasty expression on its face. "Enjoy the filth, vermin," it spat before turning away and taking what was left of Marco with him.

Jean had other things he wanted to say, a lot of which rode along the same vein as... as  _Eren_. But he didn't say them. He wouldn't.

The others tip-toed past, not because they were frightened more monsters would come snap at them, just that Jean would. He wore an expression only donned by the heartbroken.

And it was with those broken hearts and broken faith, that the five of them took off into the wilderness, leaving Monsterland - and Marco, and Eren - behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you.
> 
> ["Take Me Home, Country Roads"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vrEljMfXYo)


	3. Traveling On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes, and the family grows, but none of them really get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING: Leg Amputation

* * *

  **TEN MONTHS LATER**

* * *

Sasha glowed.

The baby's hair was light, like Connie's would be if he dared let it grow past his ears, and her cheeks were the same kind of ruddy Sasha's had been as a girl. Her eyes were dark as her mother's, though she'd yet to really open them. She didn't cry, but she didn't laugh either. She was quiet. She pondered her tongue, and blew snot bubbles when she sneezed.

And little Marcie was the highlight of anyone's day.

Jean's stomach did little flip-flops when he heard the name, but he didn't want to make a scene when he didn't like it. Marco wasn't his alone, the other's knew him just as well, and he knew Marco and Sasha were practically siblings. Marco would have loved the name, and he would have been a second father, a third parent, to Marcie.

Jean tried not to see him in her, but there Marco was anyway, quiet but apparent. He saw him when she laughed, but even more when she cried. Marco'd always been such an ugly crier, the kind to get a horribly runny nose the instant the tears spilled over the edge, and Marcie was the same.

Jean was only grateful she didn't look like him, too.

And as Marcie grew, she wasn't the only one whose looks changed: Sasha's hair went darker with childbirth, going so dark a person couldn't see the red tinge to her hair unless in direct sunlight. Connie'd had a miraculous three-inch growth spurt for no apparent reason, and hunting with his wife had bulked him up. 

Armin's hair had been hacked away, short and spiky, and he allowed himself entry into conversation more often. A tumultuous run-in with an iguana in a desert valley left him with a nasty grey scar across his right cheek, but he liked it. "For once, being beaten up is a mystery," he said. "People can't look at this and automatically assume it's because of monsters. It's from freedom."

They later found that same iguana, still flecked with Armin's blood, and had it for dinner. He took the skin of its tail, and fashioned himself an iguana-skin wrist guard that he only wore on his right side. 

As for Mikasa and Jean, their heights and demeanors didn't change much. Jean still stuck to the shadows, and Mikasa still held her tongue. Even as worry bled into his hair, as the light blond bleached into a dark, shimmery grey, Jean wore only black. Even as her hair passed her jaw, her shoulders, Mikasa refused to cut it. Her brother had touched that hair. He'd pulled it and put chunks of it between his lips and nose like a mustache, and Mikasa swore she could still smell him in there when she slept. If she cut her hair now, she'd be cutting off a piece of her family, one of the last pieces she had left.

* * *

**SIX YEARS LATER**

* * *

The corners had been weathered from being touched so much over the years, but the ink was still bright and pigmented. No longer was the paper crisp and white, but a dull color like eggshells, and the folded crease was so thin rays of light bled through when the card was held to the sun.

Jean didn't take Marco's note out often, and never had he done it where the others could see. They looked up to him, and if he showed that he hadn't healed, hadn't even started to, they'd be lost. He had to be strong for them, so he made himself strong.

He and Mikasa always went ahead after the group settled, to scope out the land and see if any amount of permanence would be safe, and it usually wasn't. Even outside Monsterland, monsters were not an uncommon thing to see. They learned over the years, that if they stuck to heavily wooded areas, there would be less chance of a run-in.

But they still happened. Of course, they still happened, and it was only by the grace of whatever guardian angels watching over that they could get away by the skin of their teeth. The good thing was that Marcie had never actually  _see_ _n_ a monster, but she'd seen what they could do to a person. To her father.

It was only by luck that they'd found an underground spring, or Connie and Jean would both be dead. The monster who found them had been so much faster than anything they'd encountered before, and a short-placed hand had crushed Connie's left leg. Jean then had to drag him away, and the two slipped into the ground, into a hole, and plunged deep into the earth, falling nearly thirty feet before crashing into the steaming water. Connie screamed where salt and heat met his broken skin, and nearly fainted before the two could make it to solid ground. Jean only felt bad that he couldn't save much of his leg, cutting off the blood just above the knee, and cutting off the appendage just below. They had to stay down there for over three hours while Jean found a way out.

The good part of the experience, was now they at least had a place where the group could stay which was safe, and close to fresh water. When Jean finally contacted the others, he'd slipped through cavern after cavern until the ground finally sloped upward and he crawled up to a patch of earth -  _real_ earth with dirt and roots - and pushed up. It gave with little effort, and Jean found a babbling stream surrounded by nothing but enormous forest for what seemed like miles.

After a swift clean of the caverns, after Connie was given more fluids and laid on something more comfortable than rock, Marco's guitar was leaned against the northern wall, and Eren's ball cap, which Mikasa had been holding for him when he died, draped over the neck. They were so casual there, yet so sacred, and not even Marcie dared touch them.

Jean set up his bedding to the left of the guitar, Mikasa to the right, and the rest followed suit.

When night fell, when the small hole above the spring was no longer glowing with sunlight, the cavern came alight. Some sort of moss clung to the walls and ceiling, illuminating the cavern in a smooth green glow.

That was when Jean allowed himself to slip out Marco's card - it was dark enough and late enough that if anyone else were awake, they wouldn't see - and stood it against the guitar.

_Be back in a while! I love you!_

And there, in the non-intrusive light of foxfire and lichen, Jean almost felt like Marco hadn't lied. He felt as if that guitar was there because Marco would be back in the morning like he always used to be, and Jean would be able to kiss him one more time. Maybe he'd have grown up, like Jean, and there was a slight stubble on his cheeks. Maybe he was taller, like Connie. Maybe he had a new scar, like Armin. Maybe his hair was longer, like Mikasa's. 

Maybe Marco would be back soon. Maybe he still loved Jean.

A faint smile twitched at Jean's lips before they fell again, and he took the card back.

He wished he could throw the card away, let Marco's memory rest. He wished he could smash that guitar, give it a proper burial like Marco never was allowed, but he couldn't. He'd carry the weight of love lost on his back until he dropped, no matter how much he wished he wouldn't, didn't have to.

For the first time in six years, the world around was silent, and no one had to keep watch during the night. For the first time in six years, Jean succumbed to the sleepy hands of grief. Twenty-seven years old, and Jean finally wept for the dead and gone.

He was so busy keeping his own grief to himself, he didn't notice that, just to his right, Mikasa was caught in the same storm.

* * *

Even after years of freedom, of less caution and fear, the group still arose around the same time each morning. Though, now it could be said that it was less because they had to, but because they could and wanted to. Now they could see the sun as it rose from the ground, instead of from behind enormous copper walls.

"We'll scout the area," Jean said in a low voice. "Map out water and game sources, see if there's any reason we shouldn't stay."

"Be safe," Armin pressed. "Both of you." His eyes flicked between Mikasa and Jean, and he rubbed the iguana skin as he often did when he was nervous. He glanced all around the cavern. "I sure hope we can stay here a little while. It's nice to have something solid over my head."

Jean didn't offer any kind of reassurances, but he shrugged, and he and Mikasa both made their way up the small tunnel leading to the surface.

The air was much colder up top thanks to the spring keeping the caverns warm and balmy, and Jean's face was instantly chilly. They both shivered deeper into their layers, and headed east of where they'd come the day prior. Anywhere west of here which was not forested was to be treated with any and all means of caution, but the east still held some hope of peace. There was a lake nearby, so big you couldn't see to the other side, the water there always refreshing. It would be a perfect spot to set up camp, but also a perfect spot to be cornered. 

The trees allowed for more cover, reaching hundreds of feet into the sky, and their leaves would be good for camouflage if needs be.

For a good portion of the day, they walked, and neither spoke when silence was better.

It wasn't until late afternoon, when the sun was sinking into the trees, that they decided to turn around.

"If this place does become any sort of permanent, would you start whistling again?" Mikasa asked suddenly.

Jean was taken aback by the question, and it was a long while before he replied. "I still whistle."

Mikasa shook her head, and her long ponytail swished at her back. Jean had told her more than once that such long hair was a danger to her, but she ignored him. He figured if he decided to cut it while she slept, she'd do something worse than kill him, so he let her be after so long. "Not like you used to. You actually let people hear you."

He looked at her again, scowled really. "Why does it matter to you?"

Mikasa wasn't one for emotional. She didn't  _do_ melodrama, or inspirational, or anything along the same vein. She was frank, and blunt. 

So it came as a shock that she had to swallow before speaking again. "Because you had a way of making anywhere feel like home, and I like the way this place feels."

He still looked at her, but his eyes swiveled away when color sprouted to his cheeks. "I...I'll think about it. Maybe."

She didn't throw her arms around him like he half-expected, but she showed gratitude in different, quieter ways. Mikasa's eyes sparkled, not that she let Jean see. She bowed her head, almost reverent. A tiny smile played at her lips.

"It really is lovely here," she sighed.

Jean had to agree, especially now that the sun was setting and burning through the giant leaves overhead. The world was white and grey all around, accented in greens and golds and soft oranges, the kind of colors saved specifically for early autumn and nothing else.

Right now had been Marco's favorite time of year.

It affected Jean as it normally did. He nodded once, sniffed, and winked into a part of the canopy where the sun peeked through. Where he could convince himself the sting in his eyes was because of the sunlight, and nothing else.

Mikasa got the picture, and had the good grace to play it off. "Is it okay if I walk back alone? I have some thinking to do."

Jean nodded at her, and watched silently, sadly, as she ghosted through the leaves westward. It wasn't very long until the world around Jean was utterly silent, only accented by the natural ambiance of the wood.

He headed back eastward, and whistled to keep his throat clear and his heart where it should be. He whistled any and every song he knew, walking endlessly, until the tune changed to one which was only just familiar to him. It was twangy, something he didn't normally care for, but Marco had seemed so happy when he played it for him.

_Be back in a while! I love you!_

The whistling choked off, and Jean froze. Marco's favorite song, his favorite season, and now his handwriting? Yet where was Marco himself?

Jean's stomach squelched, and he knew he should turn back before his emotions got the better of him, but the world was so quiet here. If he didn't relish in it now he'd go mad for sure. He continued to walk, and the woods stretched onward.

The farther Jean walked, the more his insides told him to turn back, turn back, turn back. But Jean had to walk this off or he'd snap at someone, and not just verbally. He'd get physical, and he didn't want to get physical. He convinced himself he was sweeping the woods for monsters again, being extra thorough, but in reality he didn't give them much thought.

And Jean, as much as he wanted to deny it, should not have been left by himself. His mind wandered to dark places. Dark places which caught and held his attention when it had other places to be.

He sighed, scuffed a shoe through the dirt. "What's the point...?" His head tilted back to the canopy swallowing the sky. His voice lifted, loud and muffled by the trees. "What's the point?"

He searched the leaves for an answer, in the eyes of the thousands of aspen trees. He searched so hard he forgot to take in the raw beauty of it all, but he was so angry, and being alone meant no one could see that he was breaking. That he was just as vulnerable as they were.

Jean took a stone and hurled it at the nearest tree, yelling out his frustrations.

"Did you bring me here for a reason?!"

And God, as he normally was around Jean, was silent.

But the trees weren't. They heard him, and they listened to him.

In fact, they even chuckled at Jean.

"Feeling philosophical?"

Jean froze, and pressed to the tree to his left. He held his breath, but it wouldn't do if the owner of that voice saw him. For once, wearing such dark colors put Jean at a disadvantage. His eyes flicked back and forth to find just  _who_ had said that.

Again, a dark chuckle echoed through the woods.

The heavy branches above Jean groaned.

If he was froze before, now he stood petrified. And with the exact speed they would if he were made of stone, Jean's eyes moved upward.

Nothing was there. Only the perspective white and grey and black tree towering over him, and its brown-grey leaves.

Then, a part of the trunk about thirty feet over his head split into a massive, toothy grin, and Jean saw what he was really staring at.

"Hey there."

For a moment, he really couldn't move. For a split second all synapses failed to fire and Jean could only stare in terror.

Then he screamed, and ran.

Or, tried to.

This monster had the upper hand. The upper everything, really. "Aw, leaving so soon?"

Its ginormous hands collided palm-down on the ground, and it pushed off the branch its legs were wrapped around. The monster fell forward with a slow, heavy grace, and its feet crashed into the ground in rapid succession a good ten yards ahead of Jean. The earth shook with its movements, and in an instant it hung right over Jean, cutting him off in all directions.

If it so much as laid down, Jean would be crushed.

But the monster didn't. It allowed Jean to backpedal enough that he was within easy grabbing distance. "You just got here!"

Jean's chest felt like an invisible hand were inside scrambling his innards. It squeezed his lungs and rattled his heart, and an unspeakable feeling of dread washed over him when something snagged his ankle and yanked his legs out from under him.

"No, no!" Jean squawked. His fingernails left frantic, jagged tracks in the dirt. "No!"

The monster laughed. "Aw, I'm only pulling your leg, little buddy!"

Its grasp on Jean wasn't so tight, and Jean kicked himself free the first chance he got. He scrambled forward to run.  _Run!_

He gagged when his hood caught on something and was drug backward once more. Jean kicked for the ground, but it fell away - one foot, five feet - until he hung over twenty feet in the air before the crouched monster.

Its pale eyes smiled at Jean, and its mouth split into that enormous, menacing grin the longer those eyes flicked all over their latest catch.

When they got their fill, when Jean's heart was lodged near-permanent in his throat, the monster's wide eyes locked on his face again, and its grin only grew.

Tears prickled Jean's as he was brought even closer to its face, so close it could smell the fear on him.

The monster blinked, then chuckled deviously.

"Oh," it sighed. "Levi's gonna love this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Traveling On"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_DjLPke69I)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Chapters will get progressively longer. This is the mere setting of the stage for juicier topics.


	4. B.I.G.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean is captured. Surprised? Me neither.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING: Blood, Implied Fatal Vore

There was something increasingly horrible about being carried in the pocket of a giant monster, and Jean's stomach took up permanent residence in his throat. Not that he preferred hands. Jean preferred the ground, monster-free and silent.

But a pocket is what he got, crushed between a chest and a heavy jacket, and it swayed with each grueling step the monster took out of the forest, and away from Jean's family. 

He'd tried to crawl out for a while, but the weight of the jacket was too much for just his arms, and he'd be dead if he fell from this high up. Not to mention how he was consistently knocked around by the jolt of the giant walking.

For miles it seemed to walk, and it hummed the whole way there. At some point it patted its pocket, but the feeling was more like being thrown into a wall to Jean.

"You wouldn't happen to know how to whistle, would you?" the monster wondered. It shook its head. "I never could get the hang of it."

Jean didn't answer. He was distracted with trying to find an escape.

"Not one for talking, eh?"

Again, Jean didn't respond.

The monster snorted. "Typical humans ignoring polite conversation. No wonder you guys get eaten right and left."

Jean's temper flared. How  _dare_ it say something like that when  _it_ was the one who kidnapped Jean. Why should Jean be polite when he was being held against his will? And by something which was known for literally  _eating_ his kind?

He punched the monster, but it only laughed where it tickled.

"At least that got a reaction from you."

The monster quit trying to make small talk then, and resumed humming to itself.

Jean didn't know where they were. They'd been walking for such a long time, and his head swam from the stifling heat inside the pocket, from the swaying of being suspended in the air like that. He'd never been caught by a monster, never been this close, and it was horribly nauseating. His insides quivered, hands gripped break-neck tight to his fabric prison, when another sound vibrated through the air, and the atmosphere shifted.

They were inside somewhere, and panic really set in. Jean and Mikasa hadn't seen  _any_ kind of building while they were out scavenging, let alone a monster establishment. Either he was a lot farther out than he thought, or he was really losing his touch. And either scenario wasn't good on him.

Here he was in a pair of monsters'  _house_.

Jean's eyes squeezed shut when an enormous door shut behind them, and the monster's horribly loud voice rang out again. "Levi! Come see what I found!"

He made it sound like Jean was some exotic bug to scare his friends with.

And then, horrifyingly enough, another voice answered, and it didn't sound to be in the best of moods. 

The world around Jean trembled with the voice, as heavy footfalls carried another monster up to them. "I swear to God, if it's another bug I'll rip out your throat myself."

The other monster, the taller one who'd captured Jean, only laughed. Jean tried to scramble when its enormous fingers dipped into the pocket, but there wasn't really a place for him to go. It got him by the waist, and Jean was lifted into the light. "It's not a bug," the monster promised impishly. "It's something better."

Jean was held by the scruff of his jacket, dangled before another monster, which seemed to glare at him.

It had the same skull make up as the other, though the lines on this one's face were cleaner, no smudges. It appraised Jean with harsh, lightning grey eyes. "What the fuck is that?"

Jean clung to the other monster's fingers, so, so aware that a single twitch and he'd plummet a good fifty feet. He had to squeeze his eyes when the hand dangling him shook him before the one called Levi, and the other monster laughed. "It's a human," it chirped.

Levi still stared at Jean, and his lip lifted in barely-concealed disgust. "Are you going to eat it?"

Jean's whole body reacted at the prospect, but another part of him felt he deserved it. He'd let Marco suffer through it, it only seemed appropriate that Jean die the same way. But he still hated the idea. It'd be dark, and hot, and smelly. He'd know he was dying, and that he was alone, that there was no getting out. How horrible.

When Jean squeezed his eyes again, there were tears, and they spilled onto his cheeks just thinking it. What would happen to the others if he never came back? He was supposed to take care of them, lead them to safety. He was supposed to be a leader like Marco had been, and he'd failed on all ends.

He just hoped he'd never make it to heaven. There was no way on earth he could face Marco again, not after all he'd done to sabotage his dreams. No, it'd be purgatory for Jean for sure.

The monster that held him hummed, and it took all of Jean's effort not to scream when he was moved again, but a weak cry still made it past his lips as more giant fingers wrapped around him, and the world slid to the right. 

"Haven't decided, honestly," the monster said thoughtfully, and studied Jean. "He's big for a human. Bigger than any I've ever seen."

Levi made a noise in his throat. "He looks dirty."

The other shrugged. "So do I." The standing effort Jean made against his fingers made about as much an impact as punching him did. Meaning, none at all.

Levi still wrinkled his nose, and turned away. "Well, I'm not going to eat him. Go ham, if you want."

Jean's heart sank as the other left, and he was left alone and at the mercy of the same monster which had caught and held him captive for the last hour. Mikasa's be looking for him by now, no doubt about it. What would she say when she went back empty-handed to the others? It wasn't like they could leave, not with Connie recovering from such a big injury. They'd be stuck here, underground, for at least another month. And that was if Connie even survived the night. It wasn't like Sasha or Marcie would be in any condition to leave if he didn't make it.

Jean was brought back to the present when the monster hummed again, and his eyes zipped frightfully to his face. He'd never noticed the bit of blond hair peeking out from his hat.

The monster's eyebrow cocked at Jean. "So, like, do you have a name?"

Jean's throat shriveled like twisted cow hyde left to dry. He stayed silent.

The monster persisted. "You know. Name? Something you're called?" Nothing. "Like, an example: my name is Smith" - the monster gestured to himself, rolled his eyes - "or Smithy if you like nicknames. And you would be...?"

He gestured to Jean, but for all his effort, the other remained stubbornly mute.

"I _know_ you can talk. I heard you."

Still, Jean was silent. Whether of his own will, or because he was scared out of his mind, he didn't know. And Smith didn't think to wonder, either.

Smith sighed. "Oh, well..." he shrugged.

Jean slipped between his fingers again, and the collar of his jacket came to his neck. His hands bunched frantically at the collar to keep him from choking, and his legs flailed as he was lifted even higher. Smith's head was falling back, his mouth falling open, and his hand brought Jean to dangle right above his tongue.

Flashes of what would happen flashed before Jean, and he scrambled to be freed. Who was he kidding. He'd take falling over this. Falling was easy. Wasn't it true that most people were already dead before they hit the ground? He knew he would be.

But there was no getting away from Smith; his grip was tight and sure, and Jean's boots were mere inches from his tongue before his voice made a miraculous return, and he yelled out. 

"Jean!" His hands were tight around Smith's finger, and Jean could hardly see through the well of tears in his eyes. "My name is Jean!"

There was a moment when he thought it was too late, as it normally was when monsters were involved, but then Smith's mouth fell away, snapped shut, and he grinned menacingly.

"Now, was that really so difficult, John?"

Jean gulped, far too terrified to correct him. Smith took him in his fist so that his feet dangled, but Jean's whole body felt like jelly. From shock, most likely, but he was just relieved he wasn't going to be eaten now.  _For_ now. He could pass out he was so relieved.

But Smith never gave him the opportunity.

"So, what's a human doing this far out into the country? I thought y'all were, like, captives or something."

He walked while he talked, and it wasn't long before Jean was carried into a large - to him, anyway - half-kitchen with an island set before a massive gas stove. He swallowed when he saw the burners, the single pot of water on the counter, and forgot to answer.

"I thought we'd established I don't like single-sided conversations," Smith said in a deadpan voice.

Jean flinched, and swallowed so he could be heard, wiping his eyes. "I was a captive," he said, distracted still. "But I got out."

"By yourself?" Smith set him on the counter before the window, stepped away, but Jean was too hollow to run away. His brain had likely been left behind by the front door.

"No, I - " he caught himself. If Smith found out about the others, he might go after them. It was bad enough that he could catch Jean, but if he got to the others - if he got to  _Marcie_ \- Jean would never forgive himself. "There were others with me, but they - we - they didn't make it this far." Jean swallowed.  _Some_ of them really didn't make it, and the holes they left still stung like they were fresh. "I'm all that's left."

Smith seemed to lack sympathy, not that Jean wanted or expected any kind of consolation from him. He merely wanted to go home, to get away from Smith and Levi.

"Maybe that was the plan all along," Smith said. "Their cards were stacked from the moment they were born."

Jean bit his tongue. It made him angry beyond belief that someone could say that, like it was providence that Marco and Eren and Duncan and Billy and  _so_ many others had died the way they did. Yes, believed in god despite his hearing issues, but to act like martyrdom was by His grace was...was something short of sick. Where was the balance? The justice in it all? Had Jean and every remaining human been put here solely to suffer? He refused to believe it. 

But he wasn't foolish enough to argue manifest destiny with a monster who'd decided to spare him, either.

"Maybe," Jean mumbled instead.

Smith busied himself with other things, he grabbed a metal cup from the cupboard, and filled it at the sink, drinking deeply. He didn't want his growling stomach to overpower the sound of John speaking - finally speaking - especially when there was no telling the measures he'd have to go to to get him like that a second time. "I'll give you this, honey," Smith spoke up, staring at another point in the room. "I'm impressed you made it this far. But what are you looking for?"

Jean couldn't answer immediately, but he didn't want his hesitation to sound like unwillingness to share. It didn't matter what Smith thought of him and his fantasies. Surely, he could guess what Jean thought of him.

"I suppose it's..." Jean had to search for the right word, and he wrapped his arms around his knees. It was a habit since he was a boy. 

Paradise wasn't the right word. Paradise indicated idleness, and there could be no idleness in a word of monsters. Utopia didn't fit either, and any variation of the words "Promised Land" sounded too biblical for even him.

Jean shrugged. "Freedom," he settled.

Smith chewed on that for a short while, and Jean went stiff when he approached again. The stool under the counter grated against the floor when Smith pulled it out to sit, and he paid no mind to Jean's skittishness. He put his elbows on the counter before Jean, using his forearms as pillows for his chin. 

"Freedom has a cost," Smith hummed sagely, and studied Jean with half-lidded eyes. "And that price comes extra for humans who travel alone."

Jean knew his meaning, and he knew it was a stretch to test Smith, but he couldn't help arguing. "I don't feel alone. There's someone looking out for me."

And it was true, at least halfway. While his motivations were unclear, Jean could feel Marco's soft energy around him, as he had for a long time. Eren was there, too, if distantly, but he was probably preoccupied with looking out for his sister and others of their group which he liked more than Jean.

And Jean could also feel the hope coming from those who were still alive. He could feel Armin pondering which direction he was, and Mikasa keeping watch near the cavern entrance in case he or something more menacing came through. He felt Sasha's anger at him for making her worry, but also her unending belief that he would return home safely. 

Jean was by himself, but he wasn't alone. Even if god chose to ignore him.

Smith was silent for another time, and his chin dipped into the crook of his elbow so only the bridge of his nose and his bright eyes were visible. "That may be true," he said in a distant, foggy voice.

He stared at Jean only a moment more before, miraculously, Smith's eyes slid closed and didn't open again.

Jean sat there, shocked, for over a minute. But other than his breathing, Smith didn't move. One glance out the window behind him, and Jean knew it was well into the night.

But...a monster had just fallen asleep in front of him, while  _looking_ at him, and he hadn't tried to kill Jean. He didn't tie him down, or grab him, or put him in a jar. The window was even open, an invitation that  _this is your chance, Jean! Get out while you can! Quick, before he wakes up!_  

Jean waited for the catch, for Smith's eyes to snap open and him to laugh at his own cruel joke, but they never did. The only sound which came from Smith was a loud, muffled snoring.

Jean tried standing, slow and steady and with his eyes always focused on Smith and his skull-painted face. He backed away, silent like the grave, never once turning around until his back touched the wall behind him, and he looked up to the window sill hanging just two feet over his head. Jean could jump that far. And he was a master of climbing.

His eyes still flicked to Smith when they could, until Jean stood right at the edge of the window sill. It was a forty foot drop if he wasn't careful, but even in the dark he could see oddities in the side of the house, perfect for foot- and handholds.

"Same time tomorrow?"

Jean leapt backwards, nearly lost his balance, and spun around. The smart thing would have been to run right there, but Jean was still recovering from being handled so roughly. Smart decisions were still a ways out for him.

Smith's eyes were open, and he stared at Jean. His chin was still tucked into his elbow. His expression was unreadable.

Jean's heart thundered, but he couldn't move. He could only stare and wait for Smith to lunge for him.

But he didn't. He only studied Jean as he had before. Then Smith adjusted position, nuzzled deeper into his elbow, and his eyes fell closed once more. He heaved a massively exhausted sigh. "There are wolves in the woods two miles to the north," he mumbled, and then he was snoring.

Jean stared, frozen, for another minute before he tried again. His escape was uninterrupted this time.

Jean had never sprinted so fast in his life.

But he didn't go to the woods two miles north. There were wolves there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["B.I.G."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKuRRqAOQmM)
> 
>  
> 
> Erwin goes by Smith because I don't like the name Erwin.


	5. Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Vorelentine's!
> 
> *snickers*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING: Implied Fatal Vore

Mikasa's eyes scanned the trees, and a sense of dread filled her. 

She thought Jean needed time alone, to think, but the longer she crouched in the darkness, the more she wanted to go out for him. He could have been attacked, or maybe he was feeling a little suicidal after so long without his lover. She could stop him. She was strong.

And she was so horribly sick of losing her family.

She perked up at the sound of a stone turning over, but didn't make a sound herself. She waited. And waited. And waited.

Silence stretched on like the darkness, and the darkness stretched on like a cosmic tear in the universe. It was never ending the same as Mikasa's worry for her family was never ending, and she sat in wait for another hour until Armin finally surfaced and told her to come inside.

"Jean can take care of himself," he reasoned, and held the dirt latch as Mikasa slid inside. "He knows how to move, and he's fast. He probably just lost track of time."

Mikasa didn't want to say anything. She wasn't good at conveying her feelings like the others were, and she worried that if she spoke up she'd say something that would frighten or worry Armin. But Jean, no matter how skilled he was, how cautious, was only human. There were lots of things which were not monsters that could do him a lot of harm. Exposure being one of the more serious ones.

"How's Connie?" Mikasa asked instead.

They descended into the caverns, into the humid warmth of the springs and quiet glow of the firefox. It was almost like stepping into another world. The tone shift was near-tangible. No longer didn't their sides prickle with the feeling of enormous, hungry eyes peeking at them from the darkness, but their skin buzzed with the absence of worry, like a muscle that's been strained for hours finally being relaxed. It was novel, and it was as close to home as any of them had felt in years.

Armin nodded. "He's awake and talking. He's taken in all the fluid he needs."

"But how is he?"

Armin paused one step ahead of Mikasa. His hair was tinted a shining green in the low light, and his face casted an eerie shadow. "He's...feeling the loss. He just stares at his leg now."

"Do you think he'll be able to move very soon?"

He shook his head. "I'll have to find a way to make a prosthetic. There's no way he'd be able to keep up, but who knows how long it'll take him to adjust. Could be months."

Mikasa's voice was gentle. "And Sasha?"

Armin hesitated for a long moment before he looked over his shoulder at Mikasa. "She's pregnant again."

Mikasa was silent.

"You know she's been hiding it for almost three months?" Armin asked, and his voice was sad, regretful. "I should have noticed by now. She's already big enough to see. I can only imagine what it's been like for her, hiding it. You know how she was with Marcie, throwing up everything that wasn't meat. It was awful. And she just hid it from us because she didn't want to put extra worry on us. You know she told me she was actually trying to lose it so that we wouldn't have another child to worry about? I mean, I get not wanting a child, but she does. She wants a family with all that she is, but she was willing to give one up so that we wouldn't didn't have to shoulder it. That's how she put it too: Shoulder. Like it'd be better if she never fell pregnant in the first place."

He was rambling. He knew. But he had to get it out somehow, and telling all this to Connie or Sasha or Marcie was out of the question, and Jean wasn't back yet. Mikasa was as a good a listener as they came, and he was grateful for the silent absorption on her end. He wasn't asking for advice, just for an ear lent in his direction.

"This one's a boy," Armin finished with a sigh. "She wants to name him Wren. Is that all right with you?"

Mikasa was slow to reply mostly because she wasn't sure for a few moments.  _Was_ it all right with her? It wasn't exactly her brother's name, but it was pretty damn close. She knew she would easily mistake it with his, like when she would miss the first half of someone calling her name, but then know it was her they were addressing because she was the only one whose name ended in "Asa." Would it bother her to hear more than half of her brother's name every day? To say it herself? Could she shoulder that kind of reminder of how gone he was?

"It's beautiful name," Mikasa said simply. "Eren would approve."

They both grinned, Armin's more noticeable than Mikasa's, and remembered. Eren had always been a bit of a narcissist. When someone asked who they should name a child or dog after, he was first to volunteer every time. He loved being reminded that he existed, that he was real, and that he was liked.

It was funny, as much as it was sad.

"They'll want to see you," Armin said after a weighted moment. "I'll sit with Marcie and Connie and you can speak as women with Sasha."

That made Mikasa uncomfortable, but she would never say so. It wasn't that being a woman scared her, but she knew she was different from other girls her age. Girls her age liked others, and did scary things. Other girls kissed, and loved, and made love. And Mikasa...didn't. And she had no idea how to speak to another girl of such things, but she would try. 

She nodded, and she and Armin walked through the first cavern into the one with the spring behind it. 

Connie lay with his back propped again a smooth outcropping of rock. His injure leg lay outstretched and resting atop a stack of folded blankets. It was wrapped, and covered in blood, but not fresh blood. He was pale, his movements slow and weak, but he was very much alive. He even glanced Armin and Mikasa as they stepped into the cavern.

"Hey, Mick!" Connie tried for chirping, but his voice was wilted and slurred. "How's the weather up top?"

Mikasa was frank. "Dry and cold."

Connie almost smiled, but didn't have the energy to get it all the way up. "Ah, sounds lovely." His right arm was wrapped around Marci asleep against his chest, and he stroked her ash-colored tresses without thought. "Is Jean back?"

Armin shook his head and feigned optimism. "Not yet, but he will be. Mikasa said he went out farther by himself."

Mikasa had to turn away because she really didn't say that. She didn't know where Jean was.

Looking out to the spring, she saw Sasha on the ledge with her feet submerged in the steaming waters. She didn't stir as Mikasa approached, but Mikasa knew she knew she was there. She didn't mute her steps, and the rock crunched beneath her feet.

"Did Armin tell you?" Sasha asked, then clarified. "That I'm carrying again?"

Mikasa sat beside her, pulled off her own shoes and set them to the side. She put her feet in the water, and they ached with the sudden warmth. 

"Yes."

Sasha was quiet for a long moment. She nodded, and rubbed at her belly. It'd been cold the last few weeks, and she'd hidden that belly under a thick coat, but now, with nothing but a cotton T-shirt covering it, Mikasa could see how swollen it was already. Three months she'd been like this, and she hadn't told a soul.

"Are you mad?"

Mikasa's gaze went out to the gently rippling water. It was so blue, and clear enough that she could see right to the bottom with the aid of the foxfire all around. It was lovely, and she vaguely wished Eren could be there to see it. Green had always been his favorite color.

"No," Mikasa said. "I understand why you did what you did."

Sasha sniffed, and slid into the water. She'd read somewhere as a girl that the water from an underground spring could heal any ailment, that it came straight from the center of the earth, untainted and pure. She wondered if it could cure the ailments of the mind, too, that she would stop letting herself worry about things that had no placed being worried about. If nothing else, it relaxed her body, and her aching legs were put at a rest. "Want to swim with me a while?"

Mikasa didn't. She hated the feeling of peeling wet denim from her legs. But it didn't much matter. She stood from her place on the ledge and stripped to nothing but her underwear before cannonballing right into the water. Steam and minerals shocked her body, and Mikasa broke the surface to the sound of Sasha laughing.

It wasn't the sad kind of laughter that came with old memories. It was a real laugh. 

Mikasa swam closer, and her long hair fanned out after her, shining like black ink. "It really does feel nice in here. We should get Jean to come in."

Sasha snorted and closed the distance between her and Mikasa. She wrapped her arms around her neck, her feet wading through the warm water to keep her afloat. "Maybe it'll put some color back in his hair. He'll quit looking like such a curmudgeon all the time."

Mikasa smiled at the joke. "He'd have to stop scowling for that to happen." Her hands folded through the smooth waves, touched Sasha at the belly and felt how firm she was there. There was no kicking that she could feel, and Mikasa scared herself for a moment with the thought that the baby might actually be dead.

"He's just sleeping," Sasha promised, in reference to Wren. Mikasa's facial expressions were so easy to read, like a book written right there on her nose. "He sleeps like a rock."

Mikasa didn't quite believe that Sasha could tell so much, but she had never been pregnant herself, so she really didn't know. She decided to trust her sister. "Can I be the first to hold him?"

Sasha laughed, and bumped her head against Mikasa's. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

They remained in the water for a long time, neither much wanting to do anything beside be in the presence of another girl who understood the problems of being a woman, but they did eventually, after Armin came to the ledge and told them he was going to bed. It had to be late if Armin, a man who many believed had never slept a day in his life, was looking sleepy. 

Mikasa crawled out first, and helped Sasha over the edge. 

"Can I braid your hair?"

Mikasa hated the feeling of wet fingers running through her hair, but despised the idea of sleeping with it all soggy and knotted against her pillow even more. She changed into dry clothes, set the wet ones out to dry, and plopped before Sasha on the thick blanket she slept on.

Mikasa stared at Marco's old guitar as Sasha went to work, wincing whenever a bit of her hair was tugged just a little to firm for her liking. It was not new, the guitar, and hadn't been even when Marco had it. There were scratches on it, and the wood was stained and warped from exposure to the elements and so many years of going unplayed. Mikasa doubted it would even sound the same if she were to strum her fingers across the strings.

"Why does Jean keep it?" She wondered quietly so as not to disturb those sleeping.

Sasha knew what she was talking about without needing to ask. "Marco asked him to. It was the last thing he asked of Jean."

For once, either hated how devoted Jean was. While it was an act of honor to Marco's memory, all that guitar seemed to do was weigh Jean down. He refused to touch it aside from moving it from place to place, and God forbid the thing ever make a sound when he was within earshot.

There had been an instance just three years prior when the guitar had slid from its usual perch against the wall, and the resulting  _twang_ put poor Jean in hysterics. He's managed to keep it together long enough to walk away from the scene, but they all could hear him crying, calling for Marco. He'd always tried to be strong for them, even though he really wasn't, but none of them had the heart to tell him he wasn't as sly as he thought.

And maybe just thinking about that guitar made Jean manifest physical. Not two minutes after they had mentioned it and Mikasa's hair was now a neat rope down her spine, was there a heaving noise from the opposite end of the cavern, and then the sound of a person dropping. Jean stumbled, looked like he was going to drop at any second, but he didn't until he was before his own blanket.

He looked terrible, and that was saying something as Jean always looked some degree of terrible nowadays. The circles under his eyes were always there, but now they were darker, and his amber eyes were ringed with an exhausted red. His face was flushed, he was sweaty, and Jean moved like he'd been running for a long time without stopping. He didn't even bother kicking off his shoes as he collapsed into his backpack-made-pillow.

"What the hell happened to you?" Sasha asked, brushing her own sopping hair into a knot at the top of her head.

Jean didn't respond with more than a sigh

"Smith," he said, but to Mikasa and Sasha, it merely sounded like he was expelling one final breath before falling into the deepest slumber he'd had in years.

He didn't take out Marco's last letter to him. In fact, he didn't even look at the old guitar against the wall.

* * *

The next morning was colder than the last, and Marcie was happy her pool was warm. It was nice to swim around in because her mom said it would help her stay cleaner, which was something she often said Marcie was not.

Her uncle John was already in the water, in his shorts, his eyes closed, when she slipped in wearing nothing but her underwear and one of her dad's T-shirts.

Marcie had always liked uncle John a little more than Armin or Mikasa, even though he always looked sad. She liked the color of his eyes, and the color of his hair. It was like the sun was there in his eyes, burning bright, and the moon was in his hair, shining in the darkness. He was like a person made of sky, and she wondered where the stars would be on him.

"Uncle John?"

Jean's eyes opened slowly, and his head tilted in Marcie's direction. He held his arms out for her, pulled her closer so that she floated beside him. She was a good swimmer, for a child, and scarcely needed the help. But he gave it to her anyway, just in case. "What's up, sis?"

She wasn't sure what to say, or how to say it. Now she just felt foolish. The sky didn't make people;  _people_ make people. The moon wasn't in John's hair, it was just grey.

"What is it, Cici?"

Jean's arms wrapped around her and he held her to his chest. He shook her a little, until she couldn't help giggling. "Huh? What's up, Cici? What's up? What's up?"

Marcie laughed again, her tiny voice echoing in the cave. Uncle John's fingers dug into her sides, into her armpits, and she splashed around in the water. "No! No! Stop!" Marcie tried to swim away, but he was faster, his arms were longer, and he caught her again. "Uncle John!"

"What's up?" He chuckled, and his fingers poked at her neck, just beneath her jaw, so she tucked her chin to her chest. "What's up, Marcie?"

"The stars!" she finally cried. "Where are the stars?"

Jean relented finally, until Marcie panted and a confused smile curled his lips. "What stars?"

She laughed. "The stars on your skin!" Marcie lifted a soft, tiny hand and brushed Jean's cheek. "Your eyes are the sun, and your hair is the moon? Where are the stars?"

Jean paused, and his shoulders sank in the water till only his head was out. He waded beside Marcie, arms always nearby in case she dunked beneath the surface. "I haven't got any," he said simply.

"But you have to!" Marcie insisted. "The sky has to have stars or it won't be pretty anymore! How will you know where you're going without the pictures?"

Jean's throat tightened because there was another truth deep in Marcie's words, too deep for her to grasp yet. Sure, he was the sky. He had the sun and moon; he was mostly complete, but where was he without the stars? How would he find his way without them?

Jean's mouth dipped into the water as he thought, and it dripped from his chin when he spoke again. "I knew a boy with stars on his skin."

Marcie floated there, swam closer and lowered her voice. "The boy who died before I was born?"

She'd gone through John's wallet. There were pictures in there, and an old piece of paper. The picture she thought of now was the only one Jean wasn't in. It was a boy, asleep in a bunch of fluffy blankets, and he was incredibly handsome despite his mouth hanging open and the drool soaking his arm. He had a lot of freckles.

Uncle John nodded, and leaned closer. "Can you keep a secret?"

Marcie leaned in extra close, and her voice went extra quiet. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm good at keeping secrets."

Jean knew she wasn't; she was just a kid after all, only six. But this secret didn't have any weight to it because everyone already knew it was true. "He would have liked you more than anyone."

Marcie brightened. "Really?"

Jean nodded, and smiled. It was a sad smile, and Marcie finally saw the stars she'd been searching for. They were in his eyes like the sun, and they glittered when he blinked.

Jean blinked again and again until the stars in his eyes were hidden again.

* * *

It was hard to convince himself that what had happened the night before actually happened, but his whole body ached as proof, and he didn't think himself creative enough to conjure a dream so vivid.

But...a monster spoke to him? And it wasn't the mere taunting of a monster before it decided to eat some poor unfortunate soul. He had exchanged names with Jean, even if he got it wrong in the end. Then he let Jean go, actually  _fell asleep_ in front of him, and Jean was still in one piece at the end of it all.

It was by far the strangest thing Jean had ever witnessed.

He didn't tell anyone about it, mostly because Mikasa would go full Mama Bear mode, and Sasha would probably kill him for nearly dying. Armin would be the most level-headed, but it would scare him into fits. Connie had his own healing to focus on.

He also didn't tell them because he trembled just thinking of it. Thinking of the way Smith had completely evaded him, hanging in the trees and entirely invisible among the eyes of the giant aspens. And then when Jean saw him, his face grinning down at him like a spider about to drop on its prey, it made him collapse. The experience was like the stuff of nightmares, and Jean couldn't wait for Connie to heal so they could pack up and leave, and he'd never have to meet Smith or Levi again.

But food was scarce, and it would be for another long while. Jean and Mikasa were the only ones in any condition - and with the time - to go hunting. They had to.

"Where were you last night?" Mikasa asked.

Already she'd caught two rabbits. Jean had a pheasant. If the lake was safe they could look for fish, but that was in the direction Jean had gone when he ran into Smith, and he didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Or a gift monster for that matter. 

"I got lost," Jean muttered.

"You've never gotten lost before," Mikasa argued. "You looked like you were running."

He didn't humor her with an answer. He remained stubbornly silent.

Mikasa waited. "You can tell me what's wrong, Jean. I know how to keep a secret just as well as you do."

He shook his head, surging forward at the sight of tracks in the mud. They weren't very big, but they took anything they could get. "There's no secret about it. I just don't want you to worry about me."

"It's too late for that!" Mikasa snapped. It wasn't like her to get angry, and to show it so readily, so Jean knew he must've struck a nerve. "I've worried about you and everyone else since the day we lost Marco and Eren! And I won't stop until I'm dead!"

He ignored her. She'd simmer down in time, let it drop. All he had to do was ignore her for long enough.

Mikasa lagged behind, her feet crunching in the dirt. "Please, Jean. Tell me, so there's one last thing for me to worry about."

He continued on the trail, planning to ignore her still, until a warping sound split the air and he leapt to the side. In an instant, there was a cry of pain from deep in the trees, and a fat raccoon fell to the ground. Jean hadn't even seen it. Here he was the appointed leader of the group, and he couldn't see a fucking raccoon that was all of fifteen feet in front of him. No wonder Smith was able to catch him yesterday.

Mikasa leapt over a massive tree root to retrieve her kill, leaving Jean with his own feelings of inadequacy.

She was better at this than him. It should have been her who everyone followed, not Jean. He wasn't strong, and he definitely wasn't the best choice. He was weak and secretive and kept things close to his heart. Mikasa suffered through the pain and moved on. While Jean was still in mourning over six years later, Mikasa hadn't cried for her lost brother since the day after it happened. She just went back to quiet, strong. But still the others followed Jean, and there wasn't even resentment on Mikasa's part. Why couldn't  _she_ at least see that he was not cut out for this? Why was it glaringly obvious for him, and no one else?

Jean was a weak leader, but everyone else was sheep, willing to unconditionally follow him over the cliff's edge.

"There are monsters here," Jean said finally, and Mikasa stiffened. She held the raccoon by the hind legs, looking at Jean with wide eyes. He frowned, ego burning at what he was about to say. "One of them captured me yesterday. That's where I was."

Mikasa only stared at him for a long time, and he squirmed under her gaze. Her voice was soft, almost indiscernible against the breeze, when she found it again. "How did you escape?"

Jean's lips worked over his teeth, and he sniffed. He shifted from one foot to the other. "That's the thing. I didn't."

Mikasa was silent yet again. 

"He let me go. And if he hadn't, I'd've been dead. I didn't have some master plan of escape." Jean's knees were trembling. He was close to crying. "I'm not cut out for this line of work anymore."

Mikasa could only stare as he stormed off, leaving his hunted pheasant behind. She watched as he headed east, as his hands shoved in his pockets and he ducked his head.

"Don't get caught!" Mikasa yelled, finally, but she couldn't be sure if he heard her through the dense tree cover.

Jean did, but he didn't bother yelling back. He kept his eyes forward, stride sure. He scanned the trees, and looked for faces in them. Not just of the tree variety, either. He looked for Smith and his skull-face, for Levi. The other was harder to see as Jean hadn't gotten much of a look at him, but Smith's features were burned into his memory, forever haunting him.

Maybe it was better that Mikasa knew. She was smart, she could make decisions for herself. Maybe she'd get the picture that Jean was  _not_ a good leader if he never came back. If Smith was in a bad mood and they ran into each other again, Jean could get eaten. And if not, Jean had the feeling Smith would oblige if he asked nice enough. 

He actually snorted out loud then. Imagine actually asking a monster for a favor.  _Asking_ a monster to eat you.

Wow.

Jean was so caught up in his own joke - in the novelty of the thought of Smith actually  _talking_ to him, Jesus Christ - that he forgot his surroundings. The world around him faded to the background, and Jean thought. He thought about himself, mostly because he had a tendency to be self-centered when he was in a bad mood. He thought about the monsters, but not the possibility of monsters lurking around all corners.

And the problem with forgetting monsters because you're thinking about monsters, is it makes you offer a strange grin at the first one you see without thinking about it first.

"Aw, you have a  _lovely_ smile, Johnny!"

And the problem with forgetting monsters because you're thinking about monsters making you  _smile_ at a monster, is it puts you right within grabbing distance.

Jean couldn't skip away, but he wouldn't be able to had he been paying attention, anyway. Smith hung upside down again, like a bat, and his massive hands closed around Jean like a steel trap. He got Jean by the scruff again, dangling him before his face. 

" _And_ you came to meet me, too?" Smith clicked his tongue. "Aw, you really are too much."

Jean's heart leapt into his throat, and he could only stare into those wide eyes. "Uh."

Smith rolled his eyes, his free hand planting on the ground as he tumbled forward on his feet in a motion that would make a master gymnast green. "Are we really gonna play this game again?  _Speak_ , John. Yeesh."

Jean stared at him, at his black and white striped mouth. "Why haven't you eaten me?"

Smith snorted. "Why, do you have a caramel center or something?"

Jean didn't answer.

When Smith sighed, it was one of long suffering. He tossed Jean in his breast pocket again, and scrubbed his head with the heel of his hand. "I dunno. I don't want to, I guess."

Jean wrinkled his nose, mostly from the choking smell of sweat and dirt clouding the pocket, but it was better than a stomach, he figured. He wasn't sure what to say, so he didn't. He focused on his stomach, and not vomiting.

There was a pause, and Smith's voice was felt more than heard.

"Aren't you curious as to  _why_ , John?"

Jean couldn't believe he was humoring him, but his memory was more than acute enough to remember what happened the last time he tried the silent treatment. " _Why_ , sir?"

Smith surprised him by laughing, and Jean yelped as enormous fingers dipped into the breast pocket and retrieved him again. Smith grinned at Jean like they were sharing some secret joke. " _Sir_ ," Smith taunted. "As if  _I'm_ the one with grey hair."

Jean's throat closed. He knew he'd offended him now. It was end game for him. Jean was dead now.

Smith laughed again, Jean dangling from his fingers. He offered a wonderful look at his mouth and teeth, and Jean could only stare. Into a monster's mouth as it laughed right at him.

"You're secretly funny. I can tell." Smith wiped his eyes, and the black paint smeared to his hairline. Smith chuckled again. "I don't want to eat you because I enjoy your company, John! You're..." Smith squinted, his lips scrunching up as he thought. "On the level."

Jean made a face. On the level? What level? 

"I like you!" Smith chirped. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and he stage whispered for Jean. "And don't tell anyone, but Levi thinks you're pretty sweet, too! He'd never say it, though, so don't ask. Then he'd probably eat you..."

Jean gulped. 

Smith huffed a laugh, and he donned a strange expression, one eyebrow cocked. "Speaking of which..."

Jean's legs flailed once as he was tilted back and set onto a palm big enough his feet didn't even hang, and he shrunk back against the wall of fingers backing him. His hands raised warily as Smith studied him before Smith's face drew closer than it ever had. In an instant there was an enormous nose crowding him, and wind rushed past his ears despite his hands pressing to Smith's painted face. There was a heavy vibration through the air, Smith moaning, and he pulled back again, with a dazed grin.

Jean had his paint on his hands, warm and slimy.

"Oh, holy  _shit_ ," Smith gasped. "You really do smell amazing! I thought it was all in my head!"

Jean's breathing spiked, and Smith sniffed him again. "Aw, man, I'm gonna haffta keep a full stomach around you, or this could end quite badly."

 _Quite badly_. Meaning Jean would be eaten like he deserved, and only Mikasa would know for sure. He shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have gone out today. It was foolish to think that Smith wouldn't be out looking for his little pet and that he was any different from other monsters. Just because he said he didn't  _want_ to eat Jean didn't mean he  _wouldn't_. He could be lying for all Jean knew. Maybe he smelled the lie when Jean said he was traveling alone, and now he was just waiting for Jean to trust him enough to present seven others to eat. 

It was as sick as it was maddening.

Jean swallowed, and sniffed. He hated how his chest rattled so much around Smith, and he hated that Smith no-doubt could hear it.

"Then why not get it over with?"

Smith blinked like Jean had knocked him from another train of thought, and made a face. "Excuse me?"

Jean's breathing went even heavier than before, nostrils flaring, jaw clenching. "Why not," he growled through his teeth, "get it over with?"

Smith stared, a confused frown turning down his lips. The corner of his nose twitched into a sneer.

Jean's fist slammed down on Smith's palm, and he yelled, divinely angry for the very first time. "Why haven't you eaten me yet? Huh? What's the delay?" Tears pricked his eyes at being held in suspense. "I know you want to! So do it - !"

"First of all," Smith interrupted, and his fingers folded forward to wrap around Jean. " _No_ one tells me what I do and do not want. Especially not  _you_. Second," he paused, fist loosening, and his eyes went infinitesimally more sympathetic. They were almost sad for Jean. "Why do you  _want_ to die so badly?" 

Jean stared at him, his hands bound to his sides. He would have wiped the tears from his eyes if he could, and he had to blink them away or risk Smith seeing them. "Is this really a life?" he asked. "Wandering from place to place and  _always_ at the mercy of someone else? You  _said_ you want to eat me, and I figured it'd be more dignifying to have some control over when I go."

Smith looked at him a long, silent moment, and his mouth twitched to the side. "Fine," he promised. "Then I'll allow you to remain dignified."

He pinched Jean at the scruff of his jacket, and dangled him before his face. 

"You know, I've never met a human quite like you, John."

He stared at Smith's mouth, readying himself. "Well, I've never met a monster like you, Smith."

He closed his eyes as Smith's mouth opened and hot breath washed over him. He would be ready for this, and he was. He was ready to see Marco again, to see his father and mother and all his other family that had been taken from him too soon.

His shoes slid on a slippery tongue, and he held his arms tight as his sides. He refused to open his eyes, to psych himself out looking at fangs and throats. He'd go in peace.

And he was so ready to see Marco again. Yes, Jean was the sun and moon, but he was nothing without the stars. The sun went down and the moon waned, but the stars were permanent and never-ending. They were his navigation system. How was he supposed to find his way without them?

He was sorry about everyone, but the stars especially.

There was sudden flush of hot air, and Jean slid in the other direction. He slid from Smith's tongue until he was dangled before his face again.

Smith wore a strange expression. "Who's Marco?"

Jean blinked up at him, ripped from another plane of thinking. "Wha - ?"

"That name," Smith said, and held Jean even closer. "You said 'Marco'. Who is that?"

Jean sputtered. "H-he was - that's - that's none of your business."

Smith scowled at him before, finally, he let Jean down. "I don't want to eat you, John." He crouched in the leaves, in the dirt. "I don't eat humans."

Smith straightened then, a strange expression on his face, and walked away. Out of the forest.

Jean watched him go, soaked in slobber and growing cold from the breeze. He watched as Smith - a monster who'd not only spared him twice now, but just admitted to not eating humans - stalked away without turning around once.

And he didn't notice Mikasa had watched the whole thing from the ground until she approached him and took him back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Weak"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nt005WD3rKA)  
>  Smith's "hunting technique" was inspired by ogre spiders, which I totally recommend looking up. It's cool as shit.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and please leave a comment below!


	6. Days Are Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start kicking into motion. Finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Animal Death, Implied Vore

"What just happened?"

She was all over Jean, checking for cuts and bruises and all other manner of injury. Her fingers skated through his hair, and prodded at his skin.

"What just  _happened_ , Jean? What was that?"

He tried to tell her, but her mother hen instincts had gotten at least ten times worse after Eren was killed. Each time he opened his mouth, she prodded him again, smothering him worse than Smith could ever hope to. 

"God, would you  _lay off_? Christ..." Jean brushed her away and stood. He swiped a bit of cold saliva from his cheek and shrugged ahead of Mikasa. "I'd've told you by now."

Mikasa twitched beside him, her eyes flitting from him to the world behind him, over and over. She bit her lip to keep from talking, but he could see that it wasn't without a good amount of difficulty. 

"I already told you about them. He found me again."

Mikasa exploded into words, and Jean rolled his eyes. "Where did he come from? Why didn't he eat you? He put you in his mouth and everything, what did you say to make him stop? Did you stab him somewhere?" She blathered. Babbled. Blabbered. It was most Jean had ever heard Mikasa speak in any setting. "Jean Kirchstein, please tell me what you did that would make a  _monster_ not want to eat you."

He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. "That's the thing. I didn't do  _any_ thing. It was all him." Jean shook his head, like he couldn't believe it either. Which he couldn't. "He just said he didn't eat humans."

Mikasa blanched. "Wha - "

"I don't know about that either, so don't ask." Jean cut her off before she could bludgeon him with questions again. As novel as it was hearing Mikasa so verbose, he didn't much care about the topic. "But I've got the feeling this won't be the last I'll be seeing of him."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Jean's upper lip twitched, and he brushed a hand through his saliva-soaked hair. Something in the consistency of monster spit made it feel like he was covered in a whole lot of white mucus. He shuddered, gagged, and turned his thoughts in another direction before he made himself sick. "He was looking for me. And the night before he said 'Same time tomorrow?' so. I don't know what to do about that. He can smell me. And now he knows which direction to find me."

Mikasa froze. "Then you're going to meet him again. And keep meeting him."

Jean's head whipped to look at her so fast his bangs flipped onto his forehead and stuck to his skin in chilly clumps. " _What_?"

Mikasa was chewing at the idea like a rat. She nibbled the corners, rolled the texture across the roof of her mouth before swallowing it for digestion. "Already he's has plenty of opportunity to kill you, and we've learned today that he doesn't eat humans. Maybe he could be of some use to us."

Jean's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. "Do you even hear yourself? What you're suggesting?"

"That a monster could help us? Of course I know it sounds nuts. I'm not stupid, Jean." Mikasa's face was placid, surprisingly unaffected as she suggested that one of her family go out and make chummy with the most dangerous thing out there. "But we're in no condition for moving. Not unless we left Connie behind, which I know Sasha would never allow."

Jean stared at her. "I don't know if I can do that," he finally sighed. "You don't know what it's like being around him. He's unpredictable."

Mikasa fell silent as they walked, and her voice was hollow when she finally spoke up. "You don't think he's predictable enough to sniff you out if you tried hiding? You at least know what you're doing around monsters, more than any of us back home. I can only imagine the shit show it'd be if he found the others."

Jean couldn't help the imagery of a massive arm breaking the earth, dipping into the caverns they now called home, poking around. He couldn't help imagining those column-like fingers snaking around a terrified Marcie, squeezing too tight, dragging her out into the air and then what? What would happen next? Would Smith laugh at his find? Would he be angry that Jean had lied to him about the others? Would he eat Marcie or keep her?

Jean couldn't be sure which scared him more: what he'd learned from a lifetime spent existing around a world consumed by monsters, or two days spent learning about the strange and enigmatic Smith and Levi.

"Where does he normally find you?" Mikasa wondered. "He hasn't come very deep into the wood, has he?"

Jean shook his head. "No. I don't think he likes it here. Said there are wolves to the north or something. I've only found him right at the forest's edge."

Mikasa nodded. "Then meet him there again. Go into the trees if you have to."

Jean shuddered. There was something horrible about trapping yourself so high up, right within the visual plane of the thing you'd been avoiding all your life. He felt sick just thinking of Smith's smile when he saw him.

"I'd go in your place, but..."

Jean rolled his eyes. If there was a single person on the planet who could do anything  _but_ lie to save her life, it was Mikasa. How a single person could be so good at everything else was beyond him. "No, it's fine. He thinks we're friends anyway. Wouldn't want to stand him up."

"Don't want him to think you're not interested?"

Jean snorted. "Oh, no. Who wouldn't be interested in a monster? Especially someone who's already seen the inside of his mouth?" Jean pulled his soggy coat from his side, weakly gesturing to it. "We're practically to third base."

Mikasa laughed weakly, but it was still pretty. There probably wasn't a thing she could do which was ugly. "What do you think third base with a monster would be like?"

Jean's nose wrinkled. "I don't want to know."

"You think they're into weird stuff?"

"I  _really_ don't want to know that."

Mikasa hummed, tapped her chin. "I bet they're into foodplay."

Jean made a face because he thought about it, and not only was it an extremely vivid image, but it was a plausible image as well. It was vile.

He shuddered, and continued to walk, his clothes going stiff with saliva and cold. "What are we going to say happened to me?"

Mikasa's tone instantly grew serious. No longer did an air of joking surround her as she gave Jean a once-over, adjusting a large skunk and a fox strung over her shoulder. "You fell into the creek going after a doe, and it got away." She thought about it a moment longer, her thumb grazing her lower lip. "And you'll have to do the talking. I'm no good at lying."

Jean refrained from rolling his eyes. Yeah, that was for sure. "You want to start heading back now?"

Mikasa looked down at her game. She caught the skunk and fox while Jean was out, as well as two more pheasants. The fox was thin and the pheasants were small, but she'd get some good meat from her skunk and raccoon. At least a day's worth. "Sure."

"Are you all right covering my hunting while I'm - when I have to - " Jean couldn't make himself say it. Twice he'd been caught by Smith the monster, and now he wanted to willingly go looking for him? And who's to say what Smith's attitude toward him would be now?

A sense of dread sank deep in Jean's stomach, and he no longer felt cold, but numb. Smith would no doubt ask him more about Marco. He'd want to know why, of all names in creation,  _that_ one was on Jean's lips in the face of death. He'd be insistent, and Jean would have to tell him.

And Jean didn't know if he was ready to speak of Marco yet, if he ever  _would_ be, let alone to a monster.

Mikasa nodded. "I'm a better hunter than you. I'll work faster by myself."

Jean made a face. "Thanks."

There was a split second of silence. "Will you go out tomorrow?"

Jean eyed Mikasa's game, his thinking just the same as hers. They'd have to go out again in the morning whether he wanted to or not. "May as well."

Mikasa grinned at the old joke, and her throat lurched at the memory of  _Going Out_ , of all the nights she sat beside her brother and he slowly drank more and more and quickly cared less and less. He was the happy kind of drunk, the kind who was instantly bubbly even after one drink.

Mikasa cleared her throat and looked away to conceal the sudden tremble in her lip.

* * *

Jean had nightmares.

Not every night, and not always aggressive enough to wake up from, but tonight was one of the the exceptions. 

There was never a consistent flow to the nightmares, but they all revolved around the same problem: monsters. Some were about his mother being torn to pieces, some were about Marco and Eren, and some were premonition-like; Jean with his head caught between a tightening index and thumb, caught under an expansive boot, or sliding down a powerful throat watching horrified as the world plunged into a sickening darkness. There were nightmares filled with nothing but blackness and the sound of countless voices screaming. Sometimes there was only one voice. Sometimes it was calling his name.

Smith was in this one. He was the only thing there in a shroud of darkness, and when he smiled, there was carnage caught between his his massive teeth. His mouth was a buffet of body parts and gristle. His breath was hot with the stink of blood.

But when he smiled at Jean, or whoever Jean was supposed to be, there was such a pure innocence to it that Jean couldn't feel fear, but...sadness. Not for the innumerable people caught in his teeth and stomach, but for Smith himself. Jean felt bad for him.

And that didn't change even when Smith grabbed him in one bloody fist, even as that enormous, innocent, and grisly smile drew close and Smith's lips puckered. He kissed Jean, and he was bathed in the stink of death, his ears filled with the agonized voices stuck in Smith's throat.

One voice stood out from the rest, and it tugged at Jean's insides. It knew his name, screamed it.

It was Marco's voice, caught just inside Smith's throat.

Smith kissed Jean again, but panic was building inside Jean for Marco, for what was to come of him if Jean didn't save him, and Jean thrashed in Smith's grip.

"Please!" he called. "Please, not him! Don't take him!"

Smith pulled Jean away, and the innocence was gone from his gaze. He stared down his nose at Jean, and Jean watched as Smith's eyes dulled and his mouth twisted into a sneer. He felt as Smith's fist grew tight around him.

Smith's jaw dropped open, and he lifted Jean to his tongue, and still Jean couldn't find it in him to be frightened of dying. He could see Marco at the back of his throat, crying and reaching for him as he slipped down, down, down.

"Marco!" Jean crawled forward, grasping for him. He was just out of reach. "Marco!"

Marco continued to slide until his arm was the only thing which Jean could see. He clawed at Smith's tongue, his voice bubbly with tears and Jean's voice. 

"Please, I don't want to die! I don't want to die, Jean!"

Jean scrambled forward. He had to catch Marco, couldn't let him slip, and he was so  _close_. "Wait!"

But Marco continued to slide, and Jean fell right after him.

"Jean, please! Wake up!"

* * *

 

"Don't go - !"

Jean threw himself forward so fast and hard his elbow hit into something hard, and his forehead slammed into something even harder. A resulting cry of pain sounded out in the dark, and something tumbled noisily to the ground.

Marco's guitar. Jean would know that awful sound anywhere. But then who - 

"Ouch, John! You hit my teeth!"

He scrambled around in the dark, eyes adjusting to the dim foxfire. "Marcie?"

She scooted forward gingerly. "You were crying again. For that boy." Her voice was gentle in the darkness, enough that it wouldn't wake the others if they weren't already from Jean's screaming. "It woke me up."

Jean took a deep breath, only now noticing how sweaty he was. He was drenched, and he was freezing. "Oh." He swallowed to clear his mind, but the thought of swallowing made him think of Marco's hand reaching out for him from Smith's throat, and he choked. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Was I loud?"

Marcie shook her head. "No, but you were moving around a lot. You knocked down your guitar."

Jean still took a moment to collect himself before speaking. "I'm sorry, honey."

Marcie was silent for a beat. "Do you want me to sing you back to sleep?"

Jean chuckled. It was a nervous and scared sound. "No, that's okay."

Marcie hesitated again. "Want me to sleep with you? I'm good at keeping nightmares away."

Jean seriously doubted he'd be falling asleep again any time soon, but it was still nice of her to offer. In any case, he could convince himself he'd extend the same offer to her in return. "Your mom says that too." He folded back his blanket and let her scoot in beside him. She was pleasantly cool, though not clammy like him, and she still smelled like the soap Sasha made. "But she also says you snore."

Marcie giggled, and Jean got a sharp elbow to the side. "I don't snore! I'm quiet as a little mouse!"

Jean still chuckled, smoothing down her hair and setting one arm over her as he lay on his side. He was faced with a mountain of ashy hair, but it wasn't so bad. It smelled nice, and Jean found himself slipping back to sleep in only a few minutes.

When he awoke again in the morning, Jean was near-suffocated by hair. Marcie slept like a rock, but she was probably the most adorable rock Jean has ever seen. The way she nuzzled into his coat made it okay that Jean now had to face the morning with nothing more than a worn jacket he'd had for years.

Mikasa was already awake and outside. She looked refreshed and well-rested, something Jean never did.

"How'd you sleep?" She wondered as soon as Jean crawled from the hatch in the earth. She had herself busy knapping arrowheads beside the creek outside, and three new arrows sat to her left. 

There was no dancing around topics with Mikasa, and Jean's face burned because he knew now that he'd woken her last night with his crying. 

"Fine," Jean grumbled, and busied himself with picking the dirt from under his nails.

"Are you feeling up to going out today?"

Jean snorted. "Of course not. But I'm going to."

Mikasa paused her knapping, pulling her knife away from her latest arrowhead. "No one expects you to push yourself so hard, Jean. We can wait till tomorrow - "

"How about we don't do this this morning?" Jean sighed. "I'm not feeling it." He threw Mikasa a helpless glance, the cold of early morning finally getting to him. "I just want to get this over and done with."

Mikasa looked at him a long moment, then stood and wrapped her arms around him. "You have to promise you'll be back."

Jean rolled his eyes, his cheeks burning because Mikasa really was pretty and it had been a long time since someone had hugged him like that. "You already know I will be."

"But you have to promise," Mikasa took a step back. "I'm still superstitious that Eren would have survived if he promised he would. So I'm making you promise just in case I'm right."

Jean's nose twitched, but he didn't mention how Marco promised they'd all make it out okay and then didn't himself. Jean didn't have it in him to crush Mikasa like that. 

"I promise I'll be back alive and in one piece."

Mikasa grinned. "And with a new best friend."

Jean scowled. "That isn't funny. I'm only doing this so he won't come looking for me."

Mikasa shrugged. "No harm in trying to get an ally in all this."

Jean sighed, and relented only because he wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible. "I'll see what I can do," he groused noncommittally.

He'd memorized a lot of the foliage by this point, felt in his bones as he began treading through territory which was unpredictable. Within an hour he was scanning the trees, his heart a thundering mess in his chest. Per the norm now, Jean's instincts screamed at him that he was in danger, but he ignored them.

He kept walking, even as the wind picked up and he was bludgeoned with cold, in the direction he last saw Smith. He could have sworn he wasn't this far out the day before, but he was distracted then, so who really knew? He could've been right at the border of the wood and he wouldn't have known.

Jean didn't worry about it too much until he actually made it to the edge of the woods, and still Smith was nowhere to be seen.

Never in his life did he think he'd actually feel annoyed that there were no monsters in the vicinity.

He resorted to calling his name. Monsters had scarily good hearing, and Jean didn't doubt that he would be able to hear him even if he actually made an effort to keep his steps light.

"Smith? Helloooo?" Jean glanced around, turning in a circle, looking at the trees. "Big guy? Is it okay if I call you 'Big guy?'"

The wood was entirely silent, and Jean kicked the dirt. "What so when I'm  _actually_ looking for you, you ghost on me?" Yelling, thought now it was to no one in particular, was extremely cathartic. Jean kept it up. "That's bad etiquette, you know! Not a good way to keep friends!"

"So we're friends now?" a skeptical voice rang out high above Jean's head. He leapt and spun around, scanning the trees again. "Last I heard someone who threatens to eat you couldn't be considered good company."

Jean tried to find that skull-painted face mixed in with the trees, but he saw nothing. All he heard was Smith's all-surrounding voice. 

"Where are you?"

There was a ghostly chuckle. "You must first earn my friendship by finding me."

Jean wanted to roll his eyes, but the thought of Smith seeing kept him from doing so. It wasn't like he was aching  _that_ much for Smith's company.

"How's that fair? You had a head start."

That chuckle again, somewhere to Jean's right. Still his eyes searched, looking for living eyes and maybe a mouth in the grey and brown foliage. 

"Wasn't it you who said your life is anything but fair? Just trying to keep things consistent for you."

"That's not what friends are for."

"Maybe I'm a different kind of friend."

Jean didn't understand how Smith made his voice do that. How in an instant he could change its resonance and make it sound as if he were in a totally different place. It was frustrating. And terrifying.

"Do I at least get a prize if I find you?"

There was a pause. "You get to bask in the glory of my presence."

Smith's voice dripped with sarcasm, and Jean snorted, whipping around. "Pass."

"You get...a friend?"

"I thought we crossed that bridge yesterday when you agreed to eat me."

The woods fell silent again, the only sounds being natural ambience and the ghoulish groan of whichever tree supported Smith's weight. Jean tried to pinpoint the sound, but it was like trying to centralize on a single voice in a crowded room; it kept getting mixed up with other noises and fading to the background. It was so quiet Jean could hear his heart behind his ears.

When Smith's voice flooded the wood again, he sounded uncomfortable. "...Speaking of which."

The earth behind Jean shuddered as something large and heavy fell flat just five feet behind him, and he whipped around just in time to see a massive hand collide with the dirt. Smith's shirt was a muddy grey, the same color as the trees, and after scaling him with his eyes, Jean saw exactly why he couldn't find him: Smith wore a scarf over his mouth and most of his cheeks. The skull paint was still there, concealing his eyes in plain sight.

He fell forward again, and Jean couldn't fight the urge to skip backward, just in case he lost his balance and went down. Smith didn't grab for Jean, but tucked his feet under him as soon as they touched the ground, and folded his legs so he sat in front of Jean.

"I'm sorry for how I acted yesterday," Smith said. His voice was just slightly muffled behind his scarf. "It took a lot of thinking for me to understand where you were coming from when you asked to have control over your own demise, but I get it now. And I'm sorry for being so rude."

Jean was shocked into taking two steps back. His right foot stepped into a dip in the ground and he went sprawling backward. His position matched Smith's somewhat, only Smith was much more composed in the way he sat. Sure, Smith had been rude the day before, but so had Jean, and it had never crossed Jean's mind that Smith should apologize for acting like that.

"It's..." Jean started. "Don't sweat it. I was an ass too."

Smith made an expression under his scarf that Jean couldn't catch in its entirety. He seemed to squirm just slightly. "I actually have a proposition for you, if you'll hear me out."

Jean sat up and nodded. He noticed the way Smith tucked his feet tighter under his thighs, and found it so odd because that was something Jean had been doing for years himself. "Shoot."

Smith nodded, and his pale eyes searched for other things. His fingers tangled together in his lap. "I spoke to Levi about you last night, about how you're all alone out here in the woods."

Jean nodded again, leaning back on his hands. "They're pretty."

Smith shivered. "They give me the creeps, if I'm honest." He shook his head, his eyes falling closed as he shivered again. "But that's beside the point. We were talking, and...we both think you're a pretty all right guy."

Jean's eyebrows twitched downward because he got a sense where this was going, and it set off his fight or flight reflex. And his first instinct was to fly out of here and not return again.

Smith's head tilted to one side and he still wouldn't look right at Jean. "I hope it won't come across as pity when I say this, but we were wondering - " he brought his hand up to scratch his ear " - if you'd...want to come live with us for a little while?"

Jean's back went ramrod straight, as if someone had just poked a knife at the base of his spine, and his breath caught hard in his throat.

"I figured you'd have a reaction like that," Smith sighed, a small grin curling the skull paint on his face. "So I don't want you to think we're offering because we pity you. It's more like...having two roommates who can offer more protection than a cot in the woods." He shrugged, and smirked, rolling his eyes down at Jean. "Which would still be true if we were human, mind you." Smith chuckled, grinned. "So, whaddaya say, Johnny?"

Seeing that grin reminded Jean of his nightmare, of hearing Marco screaming for help, of Smith kissing him and getting all that blood on his face. He thought of the tone change when he begged Smith to spare Marco, how Smith went from gentle and innocent to...something darker. Jean couldn't exactly explain what that emotion was, almost like betrayal, but not quite.

And here Smith was opening his home to Jean. What then? How would Jean sneak back to the others? Only Mikasa knew of Smith and Levi, and as far as  _they_ were concerned Jean was traveling alone; he was fairly certain that was the only reason they had offered in the first place. Would Jean just be subjected to hanging around monsters the rest of his days?

"Don't make that face, John," Smith said and twisted to face Jean. "I just thought it'd be easier for us all to keep contact if we were, y'know,  _closer_."

Jean scooted back.  _Closer_. Closer to monsters, farther from humans. He was supposed to lead everyone to safety. How was he to do that if he was a lapdog for someone else? Mikasa was much stronger than him, but even she was only human. She could fall just like anyone, she was just softer on the landing.

If Mikasa fell it's be on Sasha to look for food.

If she fell, then Armin.

Then Connie.

And if, heaven forbid, they were  _all_ picked off, it would leave little Marcie to live out the rest of her short existence in solitude. She was barely old enough to scavenge for real, sustainable food, let alone hunt by herself.

Maybe his dream was some sort of premonition. Of the danger that came with being near Smith and Levi. Maybe Mikasa was wrong and there was no good way to get out of this. Maybe Jean had that dream just in time, a last-ditch attempt by whichever guardian angel was sacked with watching over him.

It had to be that. Why else was Marco in there? He was trying to warn Jean of the fate that awaited him if he were to ever be foolish enough to forget what monsters brought with them: loss. Blood.

 _Death_.

"Way to fuckin' go, Smithy." Another monstrous voice broke the canopy, scaring Jean back to reality. "You scared him mute."

Jean glanced upward as more of the trees melted and showed a grey and black face leering down at him. Levi snorted and stalked to the side so he backed Smith still sitting with his legs neatly folded in the dirt. Levi's electric grey eyes were harsh, and his mouth twitched.

Smith's eyes narrowed in annoyance, swiveling testily in Levi's direction. A low rumble built up from deep in his chest, and Jean startled again.

Levi scoffed, but backed off. He busied himself with tilting his head like a searching animal before his head whipped in another direction and he took off through the woods. Jean hoped beyond hope he just caught the scent of something  _not_ human.

"I'm sorry about that," Smith said, and Jean's eyes snapped back to him. His scarf had slipped some, and Jean could just glance where his mouth was. The tip of one of Smith's fangs poked out where he chewed his lip slightly. "But you never answered my question. I won't be mad if you say no."

Jean twitched where he sat. Perhaps there was an ounce of truth to Levi's statement: maybe his voice  _had_ been scared right out of him.

So Jean shook his head instead.

Smith's eyes dulled. The same way they had in Jean's nightmare. His expression was the same too: almost betrayed, but not quite. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Would it be prying if I asked why not?"

Jean leaned back, inching away as slow as he could. His heart thundered at that expression, and he tried to give a verbal answer. 

"Mm-hm."

Smith's eyes flickered, and he leaned just closer to Jean. To him the distance was probably nothing, but to Jean, an inch closer to Smith and Levi was an inch closer to a horrible demise. He wanted to keep far away when Smith wore that stony expression.

Smith's eyebrows twitched and he inclined even closer to Jean, paused, before he reached forward with both hands and blocked a panicked Jean on all sides.

"This isn't because you think me and Levi are archaic enough to kill you for denying us, is it? Because we wouldn't do that."

His mouth was drawing closer.  _He_ was drawing closer, and Jean could hear the echo of Marco screaming for help in his ears. The noise made him feel sick and his back pressed hard against Smith's fingers.

"We figured you might get sick of nothing but these woods all the time and wanted you to know that we don't mind if you venture out every once in a while. It's a big area, and most of the animals don't even pass through here. There's a fresh water lake just a few miles north that you could fish in if you want. We can share."

Jean heard what came out of Smith's mouth, but his brain couldn't process it. All he saw was the back of Smith's throat. He thought of Marco, of sliding back there himself both in real life and his dreams, and it scared him. He was  _scared._

"Jesus Christ, John. You're breathing loud."

He thought of Levi, that odd tilt to his head before he barreled through the woods. What if he found Mikasa out hunting? What if he ate her? What if he guessed that Jean was lying and came back to tell the news? What then? Already Smith had Jean fixed with that look; it'd only get worse if he learned Jean had been lying to him this whole time.

And Smith's hands were  _suffocating_. They pressed in on Jean's shoulders, and were so warm it made his back itch.

"You're not  _still_ scared of me, are you?" Smith asked. "I thought we'd moved past that."

Jean had to get out of here. He had to feel the cold breeze on his neck again, not the sweltering heat coming from Smith in waves. He'd stroke out here.

His hands pressed to the pads of Smith's fingers and his knees bent. Jean took a short breath before leaping backwards and vaulting over Smith's fingers. He fell short a few inches, but tucked his knees to his chest so that he could still tumble over on his backside in the dirt. 

Smith made another reach for him, leaning even closer with a concerned look, but Jean shoved out both his hands to stop him.

"That's not," Jean panted, "what I meant.  _Fuck._ "

He never thought dirt could be so hard, but he felt the impact to his core, and he knew he'd be really sore in the morning.

Smith still stared at Jean, dumbfounded.

Jean still fought to catch his breath, still held out one hand to keep Smith away from him. "I gotta - fuck - I gotta, like, work into it." He finally chanced a look in Smith's eye, just to be sure the other caught his drift.

Smith's face was blank.

Jean tried again. "You gotta understand. This is..." he gestured vaguely, trying to conjure a lie on the spot. "This is a lot to take in and." Jean found that his eyes trailed deeper into the woods, in the direction he'd come. Was Levi out there? He swallowed, his arms folding before him so he could rub his biceps. He was covered in goosebumps. "I haven't exactly had a great history with monsters, not that I'm worried you'd do anything, but. And my family was - they were - "

The dark image of Marco being lifted away from him flashed on his eyelids when Jean closed his eyes, and his ears rang. He hadn't thought of that in a long time.

Smith's voice was low when he replied where Jean trailed off. "I'm sorry."

Jean nodded before finally letting himself look up at Smith again, and he saw that the other really meant what he said. Seeing real sincerity on a monster was novel, and Jean lost where he was going for a moment. Then he remembered Mikasa was probably still out there, and channelled her. What would Mikasa say in this situation?

"So...my answer is yes, but I think it'd be best if I...weened myself into it. You know?" Jean's eyes flicked all over the place, never once landing on Smith for longer than a second, and he shivered once when a cold breeze sifted through the woods.

Smith grinned, but there was little joking in his expression. It was closer to amusement, awe. "Controlled exposure?" His grin grew into a half-smile, and revealed a crater-like dimple impressed in his left cheek. He leaned back, tasting the idea. "Not bad, my friend. I'm impressed."

Jean could have fainted from the relief he felt at Smith saying that.

And he could have fainted twice over when Smith extended his hand to him again. When someone was so big the air rumbled with the force of that much mass moving, they were too big in Jean's book. He wasn't foolish enough to say so, however.

"Then I look forward to weening you."

Jean's lips shook with a grin, mostly because he was too terrified to laugh at Smith.

"Maybe that wasn't the right way to put it," Jean admitted, and patted Smith's finger. He tried to conceal the shudder that passed through him at the contact, play it off as another shiver from cold.

Smith's gaze wandered upward, his pale eyes scanning the canopy above, and his hand withdrew. "Maybe," he hummed, and another wolfish grin split his features. He leered down at Jean. "How do you propose we do this?"

Jean shrugged, following Smith's lead and looking up. It was about midday if he had to guess based on lighting, but these woods were tricky. They lied easily and convincingly. Maybe that's why Smith and Levi despised them so much. "I don't know," Jean mumbled. "Maybe tell Levi first? Rub it in his face?"

Smith laughed. "Well, of course that, but what about after?"

Jean's heart lugged in his chest at the idea of spending the rest of the day with Smith. He was already exhausted from such a short time. He wanted to go right to bed. "Uhm...I should. I need to pack, I guess. If I'm - we're. Y'know."

Smith's expression flickered strangely. "Right."

"But I could - we could meet tomorrow? Around the same time?"

Smith nodded. "That's fine."

Jean chanced a step back, but Smith made no move toward him. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Smith grinned, that same dimple cutting into his cheek. "Tomorrow, then."

"Same place?"

Smith shrugged. "Or I could sniff you out. Your choice."

Jean froze. "Please don't. I'm not one for surprises."

Smith chuckled. It was the same dark sound from the first time Jean ran into him. "If you insist, John."

Jean paused, one hand lifted. He almost corrected Smith, but thought better of it. He could do it some other time. Tomorrow maybe. "I'll see you some other time, then."

Smith's grin went devious, like he was hiding a grand secret from Jean. "Tomorrow."

Jean gulped, but didn't argue. "Right. Tomorrow. Same place around noon."

Smith watched him backup, grinning, until Jean turned his back and started in the direction he came at a healthy pace. "So, just to be clear, the real weening starts tomorrow, right?"

The outburst made Jean leap a foot, and Smith cackled, biting his tongue at the other. Jean whipped around and fixed him with a toying glare despite the way his heart hammered at his ribcage.

Jean sucked in a breath, shrugging once. 

" _May as well._ "

* * *

She wished she could take to the trees.

They would offer a better look of the world, not to mention more food. There had to be at least a few birds' nests up there with some eggs she could steal. They'd be infinitely cleaner, too; she wouldn't have to wallow around in the dirt just to get at some smelly raccoon with its greasy meat and bristly hide. There'd be more room for error, something she would be needing now that Jean was no longer along for their hunting trips.

She  _really_ wished she could take to the trees.

But that was only a small portion of Mikasa's brain thinking that. The other ninety-six point four percent was intent on tracking the movement of a very large, very fat doe as it tip-toed through the giant underbrush, nibbling and nudging at the decaying leaves every few feet.

If she got this one, they'd be set on meat for at least a week.

She couldn't have dressed more perfect for the occasion: a dull brown sweatshirt with the collar stretched, an old pair of Marco's jeans that she'd snagged from his pack before Jean burned the whole thing, and Eren's dusty grey baseball cap. She only wore the last article on days when she needed his strength the most. She wore today because it was the first she had gone out this far on her own, and because she knew Eren would look after Jean if she asked.

That was her way of asking.

She crept closer to the doe, freezing only once as her head snapped up and the animal looked around. Mikasa waited for her to resume her grazing before nocking an arrow and pulling back. Slowly, slowly. She pulled back until her eye was level with the upper fletching and she could look the whole way down the shaft at the doe. The way she fired was not usual, and definitely not safe, but it was effective. The bowstring flicked from her fingers and the arrow shot forward with a sharp _thp!_ before it sunk deep into the doe's flank. The animal skipped on her rear legs before it toppled backward.

She was dead in a matter of seconds.

Mikasa slung her bow over her shoulders and leapt over the loudest leaves until she crouched before the doe.

She was lovely, and she did not bleed, not even after Mikasa ripped the arrow from her shoulder and placed it back in her quiver. There was a soft ash to her hide, much like Jean's hair used to be before he stressed himself into loosing its pigment, and it was silky smooth to the touch. Mikasa could touch this fur for hours, and she already had plans for a large blanket for her when she heard the noise.

It was a sound not easily forgotten, and Mikasa hadn't tried. She hadn't heard it in years, a decade almost, yet she reacted to it the same as she had when she was still a part of Monsterland.

It was the unmistakeable rush of air as a monster sniffed her out.

She couldn't tell its direction, but it wouldn't matter if it found her, if it could smell her. Not that she would allow it to do so a second time.

Her dazing was cut short for the time being, and Mikasa kicked into action. This was a large doe, much larger than any she had ever seen (not that the number was great by any means,) and had lucky landed right atop a fallen leaf. Mikasa shimmied her tracks just in case this monster would see them, and flattened herself. She heaved with all her might, the leaf tearing in her grip twice, but eventually she got it up to her shoulders, and could bend her neck to the side enough that her whole head was covered.

She couldn't outrun a monster, but she could outsmart one.

At least, that's what she hoped.

Mikasa still held her breath against the aching in her lungs to breathe, _breathe_. You're heart is beating too fast you must  _breathe!_ She held her breath even as those earth-shaking footsteps broke up to her, as the faint rumble of moving mass rolled through the cool air.

The monster sniffed again.

Then waited.

And sniffed again.

And waited.

Her eyes squeezed shut at the low hum that vibrated through the air, her mouth clamped tight as those footsteps rumbled even closer. Her lungs ached, _screamed_ for air. 

It was so close. Mikasa could hear its breathing.

She lay there for another painstaking moment, trying her best not to twitch or breathe, when that same low voice echoed through the wood.

"Oh, it was you I smelled."

Mikasa's eyes squeezed so tight she saw galaxies, and she very nearly screamed as the grounding weight of the doe was lifted off her along with the leaf.

Her eyes snapped open so fast she couldn't make sense of what she was looking at for a split second, and her hand flashed forward to snag the leaf, her only cover, where it was caught between the fingers of the monster hanging right above her. The leaf fell without him so much as noticing as he stood, still holding the doe loose in one massive hand.

Her eyes were like glass, her head hung over the edge of the monster's palm, but Mikasa could feel those eyes in her soul. They reached out to her, begged for the help she couldn't lend.

The monster studied the doe, and Mikasa could he had the most piercing gaze and sharp, wide eyes the color of the sky before a snowstorm. 

"I thought you were a human," the monster mused to the dead doe. "You sure smell like one." He brought the doe to his nose and inhaled, making a face. "Well, maybe not. That could be John messing me up." He studied her, tucking a strand of his dark hair behind his ear. The monster shrugged. "Anyway. I probably shouldn't talk to my food. 'Specially when it's already dead."

He turned the other way then, still musing to himself despite what he'd just said. "You don't look thin enough for starvation, and you don't smell sick. There's no blood. How did you die?" He stepped farther away from Mikasa. "Unless the sound of me scared you to death. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened, if I'm honest."

Mikasa listened until she could no longer feel the world tremor with the monster's footfalls, and still refused to take a real, full breath until she knew for certain he was gone.

She waited even longer to crawl out from under the leaf.

When she did, she sprinted west and didn't stop once until she was home, the sound of the monster's voice ringing in her head the whole way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Days Are Gone"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGluf6-0Cz8)


	7. The Boxer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean starts the weening process, and some...weird stuff happens?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning: Peril, Violence, Death
> 
> Just to put this out there, this fic's updates will be pretty sporadic for the next few weeks due to finals season creeping up on me. However! This is also a fic I turn to when I need to let off some steam, so don't necessarily take that as me putting it on hiatus! Just a heads up!

"How is this area on food? We can't just be hunting all the time if there's already a shortage of animals." 

Sasha paced the upper most cavern, the one closest to the dirt hatch and farthest from the steaming hot springs. Her hair was limp and shiny, and her belly was even more swollen than the day before.

"There isn't a shortage of animals, Sash," Jean reasoned. "They're just good at hiding. And I've found a stream nearby with fish. We could probably get some vegetation growing, too."

Sasha whirled on him, her eyes looking wild and worn. She was pale. She didn't look very good if Jean was being honest.

That wasn't good. The pregnancy with Marcie hadn't been like this, but Sasha was younger then, and her husband was at the peak of his health. Now she had a lot more to worry about, and hormones probably weren't helping.

"Vegetation?" she demanded. "How long are you planning on staying here, Jean? Alone in the dark with nothing but a fucking spring and some moss for company? That's not a life!"

Jean fixed her with a steady look, keeping his patience about him. This wasn't Sasha. This was a bad morning during a hard pregnancy. He knew she didn't mean to be so harsh. "We can't go anywhere until Connie can walk. Okay? And depending on how long that takes, we may have another mouth to feed by the time we can move." Jean's eyes traced the edges of the cavern. It was hot and humid in here, and that didn't feel like a good thing today. It was hot outside, and Jean felt sticky all over. "If we could get something growing - something that grows  _fast_ \- we could take that with us to wherever we're going. We can't live on meat alone, and there isn't enough wild brush around for us to scavenge it."

Sasha stared at him for a long moment before she scoffed and looked away. Her eyes rolled, and her jaw set. It was something she did when she was trying to keep from crying. "This place is pretty," Sasha admitted in a misty voice, clearing her throat. "But you know we can't stay here if this is what it gets like when it's warm. It's too hot."

Jean was instantly sympathetic. One of his hands caught on Sasha's and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I know, Sash. This place is only good for the winter."

She looked miserable, like she'd shatter at a moment's notice, and it was all she could do to not flood the cavern with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for snapping, but I've had it up to here" - she held her hand palm-down and level with her eyes - "with the heat, and my back has been killing me, and Connie was up with nightmares again last night so I haven't slept."

Jean's head tilted, and his bottom lip puckered with a frown. "Aw, is my Sawsha not feewing gööd?"

Sasha scowled, but it was pathetic at best. Her eyes swam with exhausted tears, and she sniffed. "No, she isn't."

He grinned and clicked his tongue before his eyes wandered to the dirt latch to his left. He was supposed to be leaving to meet Smith and Levi soon, but he'd already gone outside this morning and it was pleasantly sunny even with the cover of the canopy.

The sunshine would do her a world of good, he knew, Connie too. But he didn't feel comfortable leaving them out there alone and defenseless.

Maybe if they stayed close to the latch and didn't fall asleep...

"You know you mutter when you think, right?" Sasha cut in. "Whatever you're thinking, please say it, Jean."

He blinked, and turned back to her. "How would you like a day in the sun with your husband?"

Sasha paused, her head turning. She looked deep into the other caverns. "Marcie..."

"Armin's teaching her witchcraft," Jean shrugged. "He can watch her for a little longer."

A distracted voice floated from just inside the closest threshold. "Natural medicine isn't witchcraft anymore than hunting is necromancy."

Jean gestured with his thumb to prove his point. "See? Sounds like a grand ol' time."

Sasha followed his thumb, then looked at him with a rueful grin. She punched him in the arm, getting right on the nerve, and Jean heaved. "You're so full of shit sometimes. It suits you."

Jean took the compliment with a grin he hadn't worn in years. "Why thank you!"

An hour later Jean was helping a pale and sweating Connie to lean against the knotted root of one of the enormous trees outside. Sasha was already soaking in as many of the rays as she could, her hair out of its usual ponytail and sprawled out on one of the few blankets they had which could still be considered a blanket. Connie grunted, and sighed.

"God, it feels so much better out here."

Already something was picking at Jean's insides with long, anxious fingernails. He was going to have a stomachache today, he could feel it.

"You guys comfortable enough?"

Sasha rolled into her husband as soon as he was settled beside her, and the two bathed in sunlight together. Jean saw the red in Sasha's hair for the first time in weeks.

The two hummed, and Connie's eyes fell closed as he rubbed smooth lines into Sasha's back.

"If you could," Sasha mumbled, "would you get more raccoon today? I want something greasy."

Jean and Connie shared a lazy look, but Jean humored her anyway. "I'll see what I can do, sis."

Sasha sighed her thanks and fell silent against Connie.

He watched slowly fall to sleep at his side before turning to Jean. "How long do you think you guys'll be out tonight?"

Jean watched Sasha, then let his eyes scan the trees. There weren't any birdcalls out here, but that didn't mean much. The birds could have just fallen silent to watch these new humans set up camp out here.

"Dunno," Jean admitted. "Probably not too late. But who knows?"

Connie nodded, and he continued to rub Sasha's back. His other hand came to rest on his right knee, an inch above where it cut off. "Is this place really safe?" he wondered, his voice quiet as the wind.

Jean wasn't really caught off guard by the question - it was one he asked himself everyday - but he didn't expect to hear it from Connie.

And what a hard question to answer. He couldn't give a definite yes - no place deserved that - but a definite no would raise more questions. 'I don't know' had negative connotations, and didn't sound right to Jean who had explored this place the most of anyone. 

He settled for a one-word answer, and stuck with it.

"Maybe," Jean nodded. "'M not sure yet."

Connie chewed on Jean's answer for a short moment, and shrugged when he decided he was satisfied with it. He leaned back against the root, letting the sun get at his neck. "Just come back in one piece."

Jean grinned. "Don't worry." He looked in the direction he was headed. "I got a feeling I will."

* * *

Finding Smith and Levi wasn't as hard as it had been the day previous. 

That didn't mean it was  _easy_.

Jean was finding it hard to find a good thing about monsters. They were big, and loud, and definitely didn't have a concept of personal space. They grabbed him, and most others ate humans. And they were never there when he needed them.

"What is this place Everest?" Jean panted to himself as he scaled yet another tree root. They were in the mountains, that much he knew, and the air was thin up here. That would explain why it was so hot in the day and horribly cold in the night, and Jean made a mental note that maybe he should set up a meeting point with Smith to save himself so much hiking in the future. "Goddammit."

It did get easier once he was past the tree line, when the terrain leveled out and he could see more than a hundred feet ahead, but there was no getting away from the sun beating down on him. A stiff wind blew at his arms and legs, delightfully cool, and Jean paused a moment to enjoy himself.

"I think he should take up modeling," someone said in a voice like a sports commentator. 

Jean glanced to his left.

"Maybe acting," another voice whispered. "He's a real teen heartthrob."

The other voice 'ooh'ed in agreement.

Jean folded his arms, one eyebrow cocking.

Levi snorted, and Smith rested his chin on his hand, giving Jean the biggest moon eyes he could. "Oh, John, you're too handsome!" Smith swooned, and rolled over on his side like a fallen maiden. "My little heart can't handle it!"

Levi stayed on his stomach, his knuckles supporting his head as he grinned at Jean.

Their faces were different today, painted still, but different. Instead of the usual black and white skulls, they'd both donned green and brown today, like warpaint. Somehow, it made them look more menacing that normal. 

Jean wouldn't let it get to him. Instead, he reasoned that if they still wanted to kill him, they'd've done it by now.

"Good afternoon," Jean greeted, and hoped neither caught the way his voice peaked. By the looks of it, only Levi caught it, but he merely sniggered at Jean. "How was your night?"

Smith grinned, a hand falling to his chest in flattery. "Positively  _wonderful_ ," he crooned.

Levi shrugged. "It was okay."

Smith rolled back onto his elbows. Jean hadn't taken the time to notice before, but he was in a short-sleeve the color of light blue mixed with lavender. It was a lovely color, but that wasn't what caught and held Jean's eyes.

Smith's arms were covered in splotches of red marked that folded and stretched when he moved. Jean couldn't be certain if they were scars or birthmarks, and he didn't want to stare and be rude.

Maybe Smith had been through more shit than he let on.

Jean looked away, scratching his arms to give his hands something to do, and floundered. "So...what now?"

Levi laughed, and Smith's forehead crinkled in thought. "Hmm." He tapped his chin, then glanced at Levi. "Lake?"

"Lake," Levi agreed.

Smith nodded, then addressed Jean. "We're gonna start big and show you the lake."

Jean quirked an eyebrow. "And how far is that?"

Levi grinned and stood. He oriented himself so his long shadow was cast over Jean, and gestured north with both hands. "five miles yonder."

Smith rolled his eyes, and leaned so close to Jean it made his back break out in sweat. "Unfortunately the village idiot has to come along, but I promise he's not so bad once you get to know him."

Jean nodded, trying his best for a knowing grin. He squeaked when Smith grabbed him in his fist and threw him on his shoulder before standing to his full height. It was easily the highest Jean had ever been, and his stomach plummeted. He fisted the collar of Smith's shirt in both hands, his back stiff.

"I'll catch you if you fall," Smith promised with a sarcastic grin. "Got reflexes like a cat."

Levi laughed. "You have reflexes like an eviscerated lion."

Smith snapped his fingers, and winked. "Still a cat."

Levi's eyes rolled into his head, and he dove to the side to take Smith down, but there was at least an ounce of truth to Smith's words. He sidestepped just soon enough that Levi passed right in front of him before Smith's right arm snaked out and around his neck. Levi gagged, and Smith only tightened his hold.

Jean, meanwhile had nearly fallen backwards.

"Say 'uncle,'" Smith grinned.

Levi struggled with both hands against his arm, but it didn't do much other than tug at Smith.

"Say 'uncle.'"

"Fuck you," Levi snarled, and gagged when Smith's arm only tightened on his throat. "Hey, John. Y-you wouldn't mind lending a hand to an old friend, wouldya?"

Jean leaned forward as much as he dared, and fixed Levi with an incredulous look. What could  _he_ do against Smith?

Levi read his mind. "Crawl down his shirt. Take one for the team and distract 'im."

"Be warned that I can't guarantee your safety if you take that leap," Smith chuckled darkly. "Especially if you get anywhere _near_ my nipples."

Jean winced at the imagery, and he shrugged helplessly at Levi. "Sorry."

Hurt flashed in Levi's dark eyes. "Wha - Come on! We're all friends here? The three amigos?" He tugged against Smith's grip again.

Jean caught the mischievous glint in Smith's eye the split second before he relented his hold, and Levi went sprawling back on his ass.

Smith bubbled up with laughter, his hands on his knees as he wheezed. " _Fuck_."

Levi growled and shot to his knees. There wasn't a half second's notice before he barreled forward and took Smith by the knees. For a short moment Jean was airborne until a giant hand wrapped around him and he was held to bluish-purple shirt. He got whiplash, and flinched when Smith's booming laugh erupted through the air before he was let go in the midst of two giants rolling around like jackasses in the grass.

Smith and Levi wrestled for a little while, until Smith got a sharp elbow to the cheek, and Levi's wrist was bent behind him at an awkward angle.

They even screamed 'uncle' at the same time.

Levi hissed, shoving Smith's grinning face away with his hand. "Man, why you always gotta go for the wrists? Fuck."

"You elbowed me in the  _eye_ , you jackass," Smith laughed, and winced where he dabbed at his steadily swelling cheek. "And you're mad because your wrist is sprained."

"Wrists do more than cheeks. Sorry." Levi sniffed. He rotated his injured hand to prove his point.

Smith rolled his eyes, tugging his knee to his chest for something to rest his elbow on as he still dabbed at his cheek. "You okay, John? We didn't roll on toppa you?"

Jean sat up in the grass about ten yards from where Levi and Smith sat to lick their wounds, and did a quick once-over of himself. "I think I'm good."

"Wouldn't have to ask him if you'd just let me go," Levi muttered to himself, and Smith snorted.

"Stop griping," Smith snipped. "It's not attractive."

Levi made a face behind Smith's back, mimicking a talking mouth with his hand before rolling his eyes. He scooped up Jean this time, and, luckily and unluckily, had a breast pocket.

"We aren't far," Smith assured. "Have we scared you off yet?"

Jean struggled to stay visible by hanging by his armpits. It was difficult, but he'd been stuck with difficult his whole life. "Not yet."

Smith chuckled. "Don't worry. We've still got time."

The remaining trek to the lake was mild. It wasn't quiet, a steady conversation always bubbled between them, and Jean even contributed to parts of it.

Smith and Levi both knew the instant Jean saw the surface of the lake, and they shared a quiet grin.

He'd never seen so much water in his life, and never did he think it could bring him to tears. The sun was starting to settle in the east, and the smooth orange burning into the surface of the lake like liquid fire. It burned his eyes, but he didn't look away. He couldn't.

Jean had never been mesmerized until that moment.

"It's even prettier at night," Smith said somewhere to his right. "It's like you're swimming in ink."

Jean blinked. "You swim in there?"

Levi shrugged. "Sure. It's not warm enough now, but it should be in a few weeks."

"As per yesterday's conversation, we won't stop you if you want to come here sometime." Smith's eyes scanned the whole of the water, and he sank to sitting. He tugged off his shoes and plunked both feet in the water. "It's big enough, and you could probably fish off the edge of one of the lower cliffs in the west."

Jean followed his gaze, and he had to admit, the invitation was tempting. "Thank you."

Levi kicked off his own shoes, and squealed when his toes touched the frigid water. "Holy  _shit_ that's cold."

"You'll get used to it," Smith hummed and rolled down on the grass, his eyes falling closed. "It feels nice against the heat."

" _It feels nice against the heat_ ," Levi mimicked to himself in a stupid voice. "Want down, John?"

Jean didn't have time to answer before Levi's fingers dipped into his pocket and retrieved him, and Levi crouched to place him in the sand.

Jean made a face when his shoes sunk in the dirt, and again at the gritty feeling that passed through his feet when he stepped back from the tide.

"Never seen sand before?" Smith wondered beside him, and pushed onto his elbows.

Jean gave him a look.

"Sand. The stuff you're standing in."

Jean looked at his shoes, then back at Smith. "What is it?"

Smith shrugged. "Rocks, I think. The current wears at them until they break down into grains. It's black because one of these mountains used to be a volcano." His eyes wandered the surrounding valley, one eyebrow quirked. "Don't ask me which one, though. I haven't gotta clue."

Levi sniffed the wind suddenly, and wandered in the direction they'd come.

Jean watched him leave for a moment before turning back to Smith. "Where does he go?"

Smith's head craned back so he could catch a final glimpse of Levi's retreating figure. "He's got the shortest attention span I've ever seen. He probably got bored, and wandered off for something else to do. Don't let it bother you, though, he's been doing that forever."

Jean watched the horizon where Levi disappeared for a moment longer before he turned back to the lake. He found himself sitting down with his knees to his chest and his arms around his legs. His chin rested on his knees.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Smith asked after a weighted moment.

Jean debated. Could he? And how personal was personal? "May as well."

Smith paused, probably debating the meaning behind Jean's response, before he carried on anyway. "Who's Marco?"

Jean's reaction was immediate. His back stiffened, and his nose stung. He remained quiet for a long time.

"I can keep a secret, John. Even from Levi if it's for the best."

Jean sighed and shook his head. "That's not it. I'm just - I haven't thought about him for a long time, I guess." Jean took a short breath, weighing each word before he said it. "We were...lovers, but more than that at the same time. We'd known everything there was to know about each other from the time we were ten. We were family in more ways than one, I suppose."

Smith stil rested on his elbows, and looked at Jean, but the other only stared into the water. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Jean chuffed, wiping his nose. "Me too."

He remembered the sound of Marco screaming from Smith's throat and shivered. "Can I ask you something that might also be personal?"

Smith shrugged and grinned. " _May as well_."

Jean couldn't help the faint grin that tugged the corner of his mouth. It was ironic hearing that old saying from a monster, and he said in the exact same tone the humans from  _Going Out_ did. 

"Why the face paint?" Jean wondered.

"Ah, that," Smith sighed. "I was wondering when you'd ask, if I'm honest." He shook his head and sucked his teeth. "My face is pretty messed up," Smith admitted, and gestured weakly. "Just take the marks on my arms and put them on about a third of my face and you'll get the picture. Or I might show you sometime."

Jean hummed. He'd figured that was probably the reason, but he didn't expect Smith to show him. It seemed personal, a topic Jean wasn't yet allowed to tread on.

Smith sucked in a steady breath, and sighed again. "Anyway. I gotta go do something. I'll be back." He sat up and rolled to his feet, not even bothering with his shoes before heading east.

"Where are you going?" Jean asked, only a little panicked at being left alone this far from the wood.

Smith gave him a sardonic look from over his shoulder. "To shit in the woods. God, you ask a lot of questions." He shook his head. "Ten minutes."

"O - " Jean started, but Smith was already lumbering out of earshot. "Okay."

The world felt colder, and a lot bigger with him and Levi gone, and Jean got the very distinct impression that he was trespassing. The longer he sat, the more he wanted to leave. They wouldn't be offended if he did, would they? This whole excursion was to prove that Jean was free to come and go as he pleased. And he would be pleased to leave.

After five minutes of nothing but him and the water, Jean stood. He could meet Smith and Levi tomorrow. Now was right around the time he'd been planning on leaving anyway. It'd all worked out perfect in the end.

The ground trembled behind Jean, and he thought Levi had impeccable timing. 

But it wasn't Levi behind him.

And it wasn't Smith, either.

Jean didn't know this monster.

But he knew monsters  _in general_ , and that look never meant good news. That look meant this monster was hungry, and it had caught onto his smell.

It was too late to hold his breath now, the monster was headed right toward him. This was exactly the problem he'd been scared of when they first came here. The lake meant being trapped. He couldn't swim into it - he could barely swim  _period_ \- and Smith had already said the northern woods were infested with wolves. Whichever direction Jean chose, he was dead.

And this monster was fast. It was driven by its stomach most likely, and it wasn't long before Jean cold see it's yellow eyes were already locked on him. he was going with this monster whether he chose to run or swim or stay.

Panic set in when Jean backed up into the freezing water.

And then...the most unexplainable feeling of calm right as this monster with the dark hair and bright eyes crouched down on all fours and took to a sprint.

He felt like someone was hugging him from behind.

He felt like  _Marco_  was hugging him from behind.

He could do this: he could be brave in the face of death. It would be better to face Marco knowing he'd gone in dignity instead of shivering and pathetic like some fool. He wanted to do one last thing for Marco. If this was his final chance to prove there was something worth loving in him, he'd take it in an iron vice.

And when the world seemed to shake most violently, when he could feel the monster's breath hitting his face, Jean opened his eyes to look death in the face like he was supposed to.

And death was there.

But she wasn't focused on Jean.

Just as the monster was right on top of him, when Jean opened his eyes and smiled, something else bludgeoned into view, pushed him into the frigid water. He couldn't make sense of all he was seeing until it was practically over, when Levi grinned down at him, standing over Jean where he held the monster by the legs, and Smith crouched in the dirt with its head caught in the crook of his arm. There was a muffled  _pop_ , and Smith let go.

The monster's neck slowly twisted back into a position that was natural, and Levi moved his arms to the side so half the body was submerged in water.

Smith panted for a short moment, then pointed at Levi with a triumphant grin. "That's ten points to me."

Levi scoffed and stepped back onto shore, and Jean was caught in a small swell. He flailed, and caught ahold of the mystery monster's pant leg to keep from bobbing right out to sea.

"Lemme check first, smart guy," Levi drawled, and stalked up to the motionless monster with its face in the mud. "Ah, tragically that's only five points. He's still alive."

"Aw, really? That was such a good grab!" Smith bent over with his hands on his knees, and Levi checked the monster's pulse. "Eh, whatever. He'll be dead soon enough." Smith looked up then, right at Jean shivering and clinging so tight to the monster's pant leg. "John! What the fuck?"

He fixed Smith with a glare that could send water boiling. "What the fuck what?!" he snarled.

Smith laughed, and carelessly stepped over the fallen monster to stoop for Jean. "You didn't  _run_?"

His hands were delightfully warm and dry, and Jean scrambled right into them. "I figured the three amigos would look bad if  _all_ of them did! You left me!"

Smith looked down at him incredulously. "Who the fuck even are you, John?"

Jean shook out his freezing hair and pounded the side of his head to get the water from his ears. "Suicidal at best," he snapped. "And my name isn't ' _John,_ ' it's 'Jean.' Soft 'J.'"

Smith stared down at him. Even Levi made a face.

"What?" Smith grinned.

"Jean! That's my name. It's French."

A grin of benign irony lifted Smith's lips, and he brought Jean even closer. "Are you telling me I've been getting your name wrong this whole time and you didn't bother telling me?" Smith laughed. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Of course I am," Jean promised. "And I need to get home to get in dry clothes, no thanks to you."

"What, you're leaving already?" Levi stood from his crouching position in the dirt. "You haven't even seen anything!"

Jean glanced over the edge of Smith's hands, at the monster with the yellow eyes. "I've actually seen plenty today."

Smith and Levi exchanged a look. "At least let us take you to the tree line. It's the least we could do after throwing you in the water."

Jean would rather they left him there to his own devices, but the idea of walking that far in freezing wet jeans made his thighs ache. Mikasa would be so proud of him for making  _friends_ like a  _social butterfly_ today.

"Fine."

"Will we see you again tomorrow?" It was Levi wondering, to Jean's surprise.

He shrugged. "I don't see why not."

They turned around, leaving the dying monster behind, and Jean was accosted with question after question the whole way to the tree line.

"So, you're French?"

"French-Canadian, actually."

"I've really been calling you the wrong name this whole time?"

"Apparently."

"How long have you been alone?"

"A long time."

"Will you be okay getting home in wet clothes? It's getting late."

"I'll be fine, thanks."

Smith and Levi were obviously stalling now, and Jean would be seeing his brain soon if he rolled them again. "Look I'll see you guys tomorrow, okay? I'm just tired and cold now, and it's making me grumpy."

"You mean you weren't grumpy before?" Levi asked, and earned a smack upside the head from Smith.

"What my comrade means," Smith chuckled. For the first time Jean could swear he heard a tone of nervousness in his deep voice. "Is we both had a great time today, and we're looking forward to seeing you again."

Jean nodded. "I'll meet you here then. About noon."

"How would you feel about spending the night with some monsters?" Levi asked. "Tomorrow, I mean."

"Uh," Jean froze. "I dunno. Maybe. I'll think about it."

Smith nodded. "Just bring a pack if you decide on it."

They finally let him down when they ran out of questions, and it was well past dark by then. "We'll see you later, Jean," Smith promised. "Please don't die of hypothermia in the meantime." 

Jean shrugged. "I'll do my best."

"Goodnight, Jean," Levi said.

"'Night, guys."

"Please be safe," Smith grinned. "We won't be around to save your ass till the morning."

Jean rolled his eyes, and he was certain if it wasn't so dark he really would be able to see his brain. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Levi snorted. "Beware of bedbugs."

Smith grinned deviously. "And raccoons. They're the thieves of the night."

Levi's smile matched Smith's. "And of course you can never forget about - "

" _Monsters_."

They said it in unison, and the  _way_ they said it sent a cold finger up Jean's spine, one that he really didn't appreciate now that he was to be walking alone in the dark for almost five miles. "Will you guys do me a favor before we meet up again tomorrow?"

Smith and Levi still snickered at the edge of the woods, but he could see one of them nod. "Sure."

"Eat an entire ass."

Levi and Smith both busted into loud laughter, bidding him goodnight, their voices spooky and dark against his back.

"Goodnight," one sang.

"Sleep tight," sang the other.

"Don't let the monsters bite," they somehow sang in unison.

Jean shook his head, walking deeper into the woods and not turning around. 

Smith and Levi watched him until they couldn't see him in the darkness, and Smith memorized the look of the trees he passed. He memorized Jean's walk home.

They both stood and slowly stepped away from the trees.

Levi went ahead of Smith, happy to be heading home, but Smith turned around once more.

"Be back in a while!"

* * *

Mikasa was outside when Jean finally made it home, and she attacked him the instant she saw him. 

"How'd it go? What'd they say? Why are you all wet? Why aren't you answering me, Jean?"

He tried to get past her, to get to the dirt latch, but she blocked him on all sides. 

"Please tell me something, Jean. What happened?"

"I got another date, okay? Now, please move. I'm freezing."

"Wait. What? When?"

Jean sighed. He could see his breath. "Tomorrow. Same time as usual. And I might be spending the night, so we need to think of a cover."

"Spending the night?" Mikasa demanded. "Why?"

Jean shrugged. "I dunno! They just like me!" He shook his head. "Actually, it's kind of like they didn't want to leave tonight. But it was dark, so they couldn't see where I went. They don't like the woods, anyway. Now, please let me go inside. I'll tell you more in the morning."

He slid past Mikasa to get to the latch, and he was almost inside before she burst.

"One of them almost saw me yesterday!"

Jean froze, and for the first time in nearly two hours, he didn't feel cold. "What?"

Mikasa nodded. "When I was hunting. I'd just killed a doe, and he sniffed me out. I hid under the doe and a leaf to mask the scent. He said something about someone named 'John,' who i'm guessing is you."

Jean stared up at her, then closed the latch and stood straight. "Did he say anything else?"

Mikasa shook her head. "It's just - his  _voice_ , Jean. Did you listen to his voice?"

He stared at her. "Obviously not." He waited for her to say something, but Mikasa only stared at her feet. She rang her fingers, but she didn't speak. "What's wrong with his voice?"

Mikasa took a breath, and she felt bile in her throat. It stung her esophagus. It made her eyes water, but she blinked the tears away before Jean could see. She remembered that haunting voice, the way it spoke to the dead deer. She remembered the empty stare of the doe, how it managed to stare right at her as it was carried away.

And when Mikasa finally spoke she said something that spiked Jean's anger. He was so angry he couldn't speak to her, couldn't even look at her.

He stomped inside the latch in the earth, and Mikasa stayed outside, her heart twisting in her chest, and her words still hanging in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["The Boxer"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sQpUs1qNxMM)
> 
> Please leave a comment! I love comments!


	8. Turning Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> it's the slumber party chapter, y'all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Nightmares, Violent Flashbacks, Vomiting, Mild Suicidality

Jean awoke in a sour mood. 

Not just because of what Mikasa had told him the night before, or even because his body screamed with soreness whenever he moved, but now he had to face Smith and Levi with Mikasa's voice in mind.

He wouldn't be able to ignore it, and he'd be getting his hopes up the whole day long. 

Jean packed for the night haphazardly. He didn't care. He just wanted to be out of the room with Mikasa's concerned glances, even if that meant he was running away to the company of monsters. It was better than her breathing down his neck all morning.

She still caught him before he could sneak away.

"I'm sorry, Jean," she tried, and trudged after him. She stayed hot on his heels despite him practically running. "Please, just listen to them. Tell me I'm wrong."

"I'll listen whether I want to or not," Jean said. "I'll hear it no matter. No need to apologize."

"Then why are you acting so weird about it?!" She snagged him by the shoulder and made him face her. "If there wasn't a need to apologize, you wouldn't be acting like this. You'd talk me out of it. I upset you last night, and I'm sorry."

Jean stared at her. There were tears brimmed in her shimmery eyes, but he knew she'd never let them fall. That was just how Mikasa was. She could hold her tears through anything.

"Apology accepted," Jean said, taking a breath. He loosened his gait so he wasn't so alert, his hip jutting out. "But I do have to get going now. They wouldn't leave me alone last night, and I don't want them to come looking for me if I'm too late."

Mikasa nodded, her lips curling over her teeth before she stepped forward and hugged Jean with all her might. "Please stay safe. I can't lose anyone else."

He patted her back, swallowing past the lump in his throat. She smelled so nice, always had, and now that smell was going to be stuck in Jean's head all morning long.

He turned away stiffly, waving over his shoulder, and didn't look back the whole way to the tree line.

As normal now, Smith and Levi were nowhere to be found.

Jean wasn't in a hide-and-seek mood today, so he found a tree with a notch of tangled roots that could hide him if needs be, and settled down for a while. If Levi or Smith were already here, they'd get the picture soon enough.

Jean still watched the branches overhead, just in case Smith thought of sneaking up on him.

Jean sat with his head leaned against the bark, and waited.

And waited.

He wasn't concerned with punctuality, he actually rather enjoyed the time to himself, and it wasn't long before his lips pushed together and he blew a sharp breath. 

The whistle was high and loud, and Jean wetted his lips before doing it again, changing pitch.

It really had been too long since Jean had whistled, but it wasn't something he could do on a whim. It was loud, and made it so much easier for monsters to find him. 

He changed pitch, then cleared his throat and tried for a song.

It was hard. It made his lungs ache and his lips cramped from going unused for so long, but the sound was the same as it had been six years ago. And it grew easier to breathe the longer Jean practiced until he did it without having to concentrate. He whistled until it was second nature, and his eyes fell closed and he leaned against that tree, and Jean allowed himself to relax finally.

He wasn't sure how long he whistled until the semi-familiar tremor of the earth opened his eyes, and he looked in its direction.

It was Smith and Levi, but he'd only half-expected that. Since yesterday, Jean couldn't stop thinking of that monster with the yellow eyes that the two had killed.

"Ho-ly _shit_ , Jean, was that you whistling?" Smith grinned by way of greeting. "We could hear it a mile out!"

"Cool song, too," Levi nodded. "And you brought a pack."

Jean tried to ignore the way his stomach flew into his throat when Smith grabbed him and the world went at a steep tilt before he was deposited on a shoulder and his pack went in Smith's breast pocket. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

Jean shrugged, and he already noticed which way they were headed: east, way past the lake. Already Jean was much farther out than he'd been since that first day he'd met Smith. He couldn't help the way his stomach quivered the farther away they got. "It's something I could do since I was a kid. Just a lot of practice, I guess."

"Wow," Smith hummed. "I wish I had musical skill. Damn."

Jean twitched at the sound of his voice, and something roared in his ears.

And he couldn't help listening as those voices railed at him for almost an hour.

"So, what's the deal with hanging out in the forest?"

"Yeah, there really aren't that many animals in there."

"Plus it smells sometimes because of the lake."

"And the mud is kinda soupy in some parts."

"You think you'll move out?"

"Unless, of course," one of them said deviously, "we manage to scare you away."

Jean blinked, and managed a tone of sarcasm. "You almost sound like you  _want_ to scare me away."

Levi shrugged, frowning in thought. "You gotta admit, a human hanging out with a couple of monsters is kinda weird. Just want you to know exactly what you're getting into here."

Jean sighed and picked at the thread of his jeans. "I'm guessing I'm getting into hanging out with a bunch of monsters." He mulled it over. "I guess that is pretty weird when you think of it that way."

Smith snorted, and their house came into view. It was tiny by monster standards, but it was still one of the largest places Jean had ever been. Second only to that dreaded house where Billy and Duncan were killed.

He swallowed, and blinked that thought away. He didn't want to think of that now, not here.

"So, ah," Smith floundered once they were inside. He scratched the side of his neck farthest from Jean. "What exactly do you eat?"

Jean quirked an eyebrow, and glanced at his hands clasped in his lap. He'd made a vow from a very young that he'd never eat any sort of meat without knowing where it came from, and he wasn't going to drop that rule for Smith or Levi. "I'm mostly vegetarian."

Levi made a face. "How can you be  _mostly_ vegetarian?"

Jean swallowed. "Ah...the only sort of meat I eat is fish."

It was Smith's turn to make a face. "Damn. Of all the meats, and you have to choose fish?"

Jean's eyes rolled. "Is this a question or a roast session?"

Levi shrugged and moved deeper into the house. "Any good set of hosts should know their guest's meal preferences. Even if they're bad meal preferences."

"I can make my own food then," Jean said, only a little uncomfortable at the prospect of eating with Smith and Levi. He already had enough trouble not focusing on their mouths when they spoke, but watching food - specifically  _meat_ \- disappear into those mouths would likely do him in.

Smith saw his expression, the faint panic twisting his mouth and widening his eyes, and took the smallest integer of pity on Jean. "It would be good for you to familiarize yourself with the land. In case you decide on staying." His eyes rolled in the other direction, and Smith tongued the inside of his cheek. "Plus, I don't know if having you here while we're eating is such a grand idea."

"Oh, you and your fucking stomach!" Levi snorted, and his head popped through a doorway at the end of the massive hall. The doorway to the kitchen if Jean was thinking right. "You act like you turn into some ravenous beast when blood hits your tongue. We're not vampires, dumbass."

"Not vampires," Smith shook his head, and grabbed Jean from his shoulder. He held him in his hand, winking at Jean before setting him down by the door to leave if he wanted. "We're monsters!"

Jean watched, a little dazed at the perspective, as Smith stomped away. He stood until Smith turned at the doorway to the kitchen and grinned at Jean.

"Catch you in about an hour?" 

Jean looked at Smith, then over his shoulder at the wide open door behind him. There was a small smile on his lips when he looked back at Smith, but he doubted  the other could see it. 

"Make it forty-five minutes."

* * *

Jean wasn't hungry. That's why he stayed just outside Smith and Levi's home. To this day, the smell of cooking meat put his stomach rolling, but Jean was just fine skipping dinner. It wasn't like it was the first time.

Smith and Levi's voices still echoed in his head, just enough that he could concentrate on them as he built a small fire in case either didn't believe he'd actually been hunting.

He was thankful for it a few minutes later, when a cool wind picked up and ran its cold hands up Jean's spine. He huddled into himself, hunched over the small tee-pee. 

He regretted being so brusque with Mikasa earlier, but it wasn't like he could do anything about it now. He had a long night ahead of him, likely chock-full of awkward conversations, sidelong glances, and, worst of all, talk of his past. Jean didn't doubt that Smith was unsatisfied with the information he'd been given thus far, and dreaded to think what he'd have to talk about next. 

As long as he didn't have to give the gory details, he figured he'd be fine. 

* * *

He was wrong.

Even just thinking about his life before the wilderness put Jean in a somber mood, but he was already a somber person, so it wasn't like Smith or Levi noticed. That, or their empathy wells were in drought. More than once Jean had to blink back tears, mask a pause to gather his resolve as a moment to recall a memory. He hated it, but he hated the awkward silence even more.

So he spoke. He didn't want to, not on this topic at least, but it seemed this is where they were destined to remain the rest of the night. And it was still hard to deny a giant when he had you perched on his chest, when you were defenseless against him.

That wasn't to say Smith took advantage of his size. He was merely...casual, though it was a little too casual for Jean. Try as he might to seem friendly to the two of them, Smith and Levi were still near strangers, and Jean doubted he would ever be  _comfortable_ with them. Only polite. Cordial.

"So, you just gathered a bunch of friends together and, like, busted yourself out?  _El Chapo_ style?" Levi rested on his stomach, head in his hands, and stared at Jean. Those electric eyes were awestruck. " _Fuck me!_ "

"Ah, ah, ah," Smith waggled a finger in Levi's direction, a cool grin curling his ever-painted face, and rested his head back on the couch. "I have first dibs."

Jean's face burned with discomfort, and Smith winked.

It was already so late. The sun had gone down at least two hours before, but still, the monsters stirred. Jean didn't know if it was something nocturnal about them, or if he was that interesting.

He hoped it was the former.

"It's a lot more complicated than that," Jean shrugged. He wanted so hard to put his hands back, to stretch his legs before him and give his back a rest, but the feel of Smith's skin - even if it was covered in a heavy shirt - made his skin crawl. To lean back and feel his support squish beneath him was a little sickening if he was honest. "It took us over a year to get everything fleshed out" - he cringed at the word  _flesh_  - "And even then not everything worked out. We really should have waited."

Smith's mouth quirked, and he hummed. "All waiting does is make it easier to psych yourself out, if you ask me." He didn't notice the agitated twitch at the corner of Jean's mouth. "I've always found it best to just do it. Take a big breath and dive in."

Jean wouldn't let it be known how angry that made him because he knew Smith and Levi wouldn't understand. What did  _monsters_ have to be afraid of? They were the epitome of an apex predator, they were big, and hardy. All they had to be worried over is when they'd eat next, and, in Monsterland at least, that was hardly a problem.

"So, what's it like over there? In the cities?" Levi blinked his wide eyes, shaking his head. "I've never actually been in one, but I hear they're gr - uh - big. I hear they're really big."

Jean's eyebrows pinched. "My definition of big and your definition of big are probably different."

Levi's eyes flicked to something behind Jean, and he grinned. "I suppose."

"And I think I'd be the last to call Monsterland  _great_."

Levi's lips curled over his teeth, his eyes still a little unfocused on Jean, and tried not to smile. "Mm-hm."

Jean appraised him for a short moment before following Levi's gaze upward, and slammed to the right so hard he felt his shoulders dip sickeningly deep into Smith's skin, but he hardly noticed on account of how hard his heart thudded in his chest.

One of Smith's hands was in a claw just above Jean's head, and he'd looked up right as his massive fingers were about to close in all around him.

Jean had seen that kind of blackness before, the kind of warm, clammy fear that only a monster could provide. He remembered that view from when he was a child, around eleven or twelve, maybe older, when he'd almost been grabbed.

That monster had grabbed his mother instead, and she kicked him out of the way.

It was when he'd earned the scar across his right eyebrow, when the heel of his mother's boot sliced him in the face to get him out of reach. He'd had a black eye for a week afterwards, but that pain had been the least of it.

But Jean still saw that sight, the flashes of Smith's and that other monster's hand reaching for him whenever he blinked. It brought bile to his throat, and he tried to swallow it back down as Smith and Levi both laughed.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you to notice!" Smith howled, and his whole chest shook. The hand that had reached for Jean, teasing him, slapped Smith's forehead, and the other hovered near Jean to keep him from shaking off Smith's stomach. "I'd been doing that for, like, five minutes!"

Jean tried to laugh along, but his face was twisted, and he was certain the smile he was trying for looked more like a grimace of pain.

At least Levi and Smith were unobservant. They didn't even notice.

Eventually, when the time was universally closer to morning than night, their awkward conversations turned to pillow-talk, then nothing at all as first Levi fell asleep, then, a little more reluctantly, Smith did too.

Only Jean lay awake, pinned between Smith's hand and his chest.

The monsters' home was frightening at night, and not just because of the darkness. For years Jean had relied on darkness to survive until it was something of a friend of his. As long as he obeyed its silent rules, it would offer him solace, protection. But now it was empty of the comfort Jean had grown so used to. Maybe, he thought, it was because he had to share the same darkness with two monsters. Maybe this pain in his chest was because, deep down, he knew he'd never truly be safe when Smith or Levi were around.

Or maybe it was simply because of the noises Smith made in slumber.

They weren't conscious, in fact, most of them were sounds entirely out of his control, but they distracted Jean still. There were gurgles, groans, and the occasional rumble. Sounds of digestion, something so natural, and so, so frightening. And Jean hated that he could  _feel_ the churning of Smith's guts through his skin. He hated it with every fiber of his being.

But mostly, and he didn't think about this consciously, Jean hated that he had to think of his dream  _now_. Once he thought of it, he couldn't get the sound of Marco screaming from his head, and soon it turned into a wrestling match against Smith's giant hand when he imagined Marco was in there, screaming to be let out, and all Jean could do was listen.

" _Please, I don't want to die! I don't want to die, Jean!_ "

Jean squeezed his eyes shut until he saw stars.

It wasn't real, he knew, but he also knew he couldn't stand to listen to it for much longer. He was jumpy enough around Smith and Levi to begin with, he couldn't have something like this getting in the way of the progress he'd made.

So Jean gently and quietly slipped out from beneath a slumbering Smith's hand, his heart thundering, and his eyes never once leaving Smith's peaceful face. He crouched on Smith's chest, crouching even lower when the other's breathing stuttered, and for a terrifying moment Jean thought he'd wake, but then Smith sighed, and his head turned in the other direction. 

He stayed down another moment before slowly, painstakingly, Jean slipped from Smith's chest to the couch, and then onto the floor below. He hesitated again, his heart still stuck in his throat, before folding from the shadows and slipping for the front door. All was silent save for the natural ambience of the night.

"So we managed to scare you away, huh?" A voice rumbled from the darkness above Jean. "Figures."

He froze where he stood, glanced around. He couldn't see too well in the dark, especially from where he stood.

"He likes you, you know," that same voice said, rolling like a smooth peal of thunder. "Couldn't fake that kind of trust."

Jean still remained silent in the dark, not exactly holding his breath, but something close to it.

There was a rustle of fabric somewhere overhead, mixed with the rumble of excessive mass moving, and the ghoulish whine of one of the couches in the front room. "This probably sounds stupid as fuck coming from the likes of us, but don't hurt him." Jean flinched when the couch groaned again, the sound of someone lying back down. "He's a gentle soul, and fucked up anyway. We don't need  _you_ making things worse by being a jackass."

Levi sighed, and Jean shrunk back into the deepest corners of the shadows. 

"But if you're simply leaving because we're a lot to handle, he'll understand. All you have to do is say something."

Jean swallowed. "I'd hate to wake him."

There was a long pause, probably Levi being shocked Jean said anything at all. 

"Then I'll tell him when he wakes up."

Jean hesitated again. "Thank you."

"Goodnight, Jean."

Jean nodded. "Yeah."

His escape was not interrupted again. Not until he was outside and the world crashed down on him.

He felt it in his chest first, but the feeling quickly spread to his extremities. It made it hard to run, then to walk, until Jean found himself collapsing on his hands and knees in the tall grass, surrounded by thousands and thousands of lightning bugs and not a single star in the sky.

He couldn't keep doing this, couldn't keep strong like Marco was. He'd never been strong a day in his pathetic life. He was ornery, and selfish, and reserved. He wasn't bred to be in front of others, but behind them. The first to die. Every day for almost six years, Jean prayed that he'd wake up from this gut-wrenching nightmare, that Marco would be awake beside him once more. Jean prayed that he'd be the one to die that night, and it was someone else who had to carry this monster-sized weight instead.

But God, as he normally did when it concerned Jean, remained silent.

And he missed Marco. He was certain this all wouldn't be so bad if he was still here, if Jean could still confide in him and feel his arms around him and smell his smell. This all would be nothing but background noise if his rock were here with him, instead of snatched away before he got to see his first natural sunrise.

Jean cried because he wanted Marco back. It had finally gotten to be too much. Between monsters that sounded like him, and having nightmares of his demise over and over until Jean couldn't close his eyes without hearing that awful screaming. He was sick of being strong. He wanted to be weak and to lean on something bigger than himself for a change. He didn't want to worry about Mikasa, about Armin. He didn't want to think about Connie and Sasha and her baby. He didn't want to worry about Marcie.

He wanted peace, if only for a little while. He wanted to be able to relax without the guarantee of something coming along to kill him.

But mostly, Jean wanted Marco.

"I can't do this without you," he sobbed into the grass. "I need you here!" He said it over and over, until he hoped the lightning bugs could translate it for him. He hoped they'd blink right up to heaven, that Marco could see them through the storm clouds. He hoped Marco wouldn't ignore them the way God did. "I need you here. I need you here."

The lightning bugs still flashed overhead, some landed on Jean's shoulders. Crickets sang in the grass and the trees. An owl could be heard somewhere in the distance. How the night could be so gentle at the same time Jean was tearing himself apart was anyone's guess.

The night was beautiful, but Jean was ugly.

He didn't stand until he couldn't cry anymore, and he didn't continue walking until he could breathe regularly.

Jean walked back into the woods, but he left his heart to disintegrate in the grass.

And somewhere far to the east, a hungry monster's eyes snapped open.

* * *

Mikasa lie awake as she always did when someone wasn't home. 

Not that she didn't trust that Jean would be safe. She couldn't understand it, but she somehow knew she would see him again, that he would be alive. She didn't get hunches often, but she was almost never wrong in them.

But she still worried, simply for the fact that where she came from, if someone didn't come home one night, they probably weren't coming home ever again. That's just the way the world of Monsterland worked. Death was the norm, no matter how much she wished it wasn't.

Her throat went tight, and she ducked her head under her hat. Well, it wasn't  _her_ hat, even though she wore it every day. It was Eren's hat, and she would continue to call it such until she died. Just because he couldn't wear it anymore didn't mean it was any less his than it had been when he was alive. She'd honor his memory through keeping things as they had been. She kept his hat tightened to the same knotch always, even if it meant it was too loose for her head. Yes, she wore it every day, but Jean would throw it away otherwise. She was preserving it. Keeping it safe for her brother.

And right now she missed him more than usual.

She had moods like this sometimes, and they usually came with the loneliness of night time, when the rest of the world was too busy sleeping to preoccupy her.

She was a few years older than Eren, but they still meshed well. He made up for her social shortcomings, and she made up where he overstepped. They relied on each other. They were symbiotic. 

Jean didn't understand because he and Eren clashed most of all, but to Mikasa, Eren was a guardian angel. He was there to keep her safe; she was certain of it.

Mikasa rolled over on her side so she faced Marco's old guitar, and stared at the damn thing in the darkness.

She wished Jean would smash it. At the very least bury it and let them move on, but that was one thing he refused to hear. Sometimes he was swayed in another direction if he didn't much care, but there was something about that guitar that latched onto him, and it was his own ball and chain. It would kill him one of these days, drag him down when he was already so tired.

Mikasa stared at that guitar and wondered if, perhaps, it was their whole family's ball and chain.

* * *

Jean stomped through the darkness, kicking mud from his heels and wiping his eyes.

He'd never felt anything cathartic when he cried, but something worse. He always felt sick afterward, and cowardly. He felt exposed. And here he'd done it for the whole world to hear. In a moment of unchecked emotion he'd let slip how lost he was. It was a starless night, and he was a starless man. He had been for years. But now it was out there. Now he'd spoken it into existence.

He wanted something to hit, or break. He hadn't let himself vent in so long, and now that's all he wanted. He needed something physical that would make him feel worse than grief could. Maybe he could make it to the lake before morning and dunk his head in. Maybe the water would be so cold he didn't have to worry about someone hearing him crying.

Maybe the tide would grab him and he'd never be seen again.

Jean wanted that most of all. To cease existing. Nonexistence would mean none of this was his.

But he didn't go to the lake. He didn't even look in its direction. 

Jean continued forward toward home.

* * *

Smith gasped in the darkness, and sprang forward. In a moment he was panicking, hands blindly grasping in the shadows and tangling in the blanket twisted around his legs. 

"Jean? Jean!?" 

He fumbled wildly, disoriented, and fell on the floor. His breathing was ragged as he pushed onto his hands and knees, eyes rolling frantically as he still searched for the human. Just to be sure he hadn't hurt him.

A room over, someone heaved.

Wherever Jean was, it wasn't here. He couldn't smell him anymore.

"Levi?"

Smith stumbled in the dark, his eyes impressed with the remnants of whatever dream he'd woken from. He blinked it away as best he could, and switched on the the hall light.

Whoever was in the washroom heaved again, and it sounded painful.

"Levi?" Smith pushed the door open, and the groan it emitted put his teeth on edge.

Levi sat on his feet with his head in the toilet bowl. His arms pillowed his forehead as another wave of nausea rolled over him.

Smith stared at him from the doorway until he gathered enough strength to lift his head and look back.

They held eye contact for a weighted moment, until Smith could speak.

"Did you see it too?"

Levi only stared, then nodded.

Smith sucked in a stuttered breath, and Levi vomited again. He missed somewhere, and bile slid down the side of the toilet, but neither paid any mind.

Smith stared at him a moment longer, until Levi wiped his eyes and spit to get the taste from his mouth. "Where's Jean? I can't smell him."

Levi shook his head and gazed into the toilet, studying all he'd lost, before flushing it all down. "He's left, dude. He went home."

Levi blinked before he shared another look with Smith.

Then he nodded and wiped his mouth, and Smith left the washroom at a sprint.

* * *

There is something about stepping into the open which makes an aching heart ache even more. Science says it's air pressure and acoustics reverberating, magnifying pain. But Smith didn't know that, and he certainly didn't care.

No matter, he felt it in his chest when he stepped out into the open, and it ripped at his insides. Even as he ran, as his lungs started aching, the real pain was in his heart. There was something wrong there. He didn't know exactly what it was, but that only made the pain worse.

It forced him on his hands and knees with his forehead pressed to the dirt, one hand gripping his shirt over his heart. A single, strangled cry wrestled from his throat before tears sprung to his eyes and he spasmed. His muscles jerked and his eyes squeezed tight until he saw stars.

After the stars came flashes.

They brought with them pain, and this gaping hole in Smith's chest expanded until he could scarcely catch his breath. But then there was something else intermixed in the pain. A sense of peace, close to happiness. There was fear, and loss. There was contentment, hope.

Most of all, there were people.

He didn't know them, not at first, but he slowly recognized them. A girl with golden hair that carried nothing but sadness with her. A boy with ashy blond hair.

Jean.

Jean was there too, but he was different somehow. He smiled, and didn't seem quite so tired. His hair wasn't grey, but a soft, tawny yellow.

It was the prettiest thing Smith had ever seen, and he pushed his head from the ground. The motion disturbed a cloud of lightning bugs that covered his vision and danced like sparkling dust before him, but Smith still pushed. Through the awful feeling in his chest.

He went for the forest because that's where Jean lived. He went south, then west, until he was at the tree-line, and the world was so dark and muddled he couldn't tell where his feet landed, only that he was moving forward, and the pain in his chest was getting worse.

* * *

Jean found the latch in the earth with practiced ease. He'd memorized this much of the land that he could find it with his eyes closed. There was the creek first, then about a half mile deeper into the woods was the latch, and then deep down in the earth was his family, safe and sound.

He didn't want to meet them just yet, however. He needed time to contain himself. He'd done a lot of crying in the last hour, and there was little he could do to mask that. All he could do was wait until his breathing regulated, until his eyes stopped burning, and his nose stopped running. He needed time to gather his emotions before tucking them away for safe keeping once more.

He took to a nearby tree and settled at its roots with his legs to his chest and his forehead on his knees. He stared into the darkness his folded body provided, and focused on each breath. Inhale, hold, exhale. Inhale, hold, exhale.

He stayed like that until the whole world seemed to shake.

* * *

“Jean!” Smith all but screamed. For once, he didn’t care where his feet fell. He had to find Jean, had to tell him. Tears gushed from his eyes, blurring his vision. “Jean, please! Wait!”

Jean always went in the direction of the forest. He had to be hiding there. “Jean!”

He ground to a halt, dirt kicking up behind him. He was breathing heavy, near-sobbing. He had to find _Jean_.

The world was so quiet here. Smith knew that’s why he and Levi hated it here so much. Silence allowed for the gaping emptiness to be known. Silence reverberated in their chests, echoing on the walls of their insides until it was deafening. He hated it here so much, but he hated feeling so lonely even more.

“Smith?”

He flew around, eyes blurry and still not adjusted to the dark. “W-where are you?”

“What’s wrong?” Jean’s voice didn’t give anything away. It was quiet, and hard to pinpoint. “Why are you crying, Smith?”

He sobbed some more. “I need to talk to you!” He turned around again, eyes scanning the ground until he found Jean, so small and practically glowing in the moonlight. “Oh, Jean!”

He fell on him, falling to pieces all over Jean. He grabbed him, and Jean panicked. But Smith didn’t care because he had Jean. Maybe he held him too tight, maybe he held him too close to his mouth. Whatever it was, Smith couldn’t help it.

“Jean, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!”

Jean tried to keep calm, but he was shaking. Smith’s hot breath washed over him in a way he was familiar with, but far from comfortable with. He saw teeth, and a hard palate, a powerful tongue. He was caught in the biggest hands he’d ever seen, and they were holding him before an enormous mouth. “Smith? What didn’t you know?” His voice was weak, like he was sick. “Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t know!” Smith sobbed, and his tears dripped onto Jean, hot and salty. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know!”

Jean didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like Smith acting like this. It made his chest hurt in a way it hadn’t in almost six years.

Smith sniffed, composing himself enough to wipe his eyes and take a breath. He pulled Jean away from him, swallowing in a way that put Jean on edge.

“Y—your name is Jean Kirchstein,” Smith breathed, his lip trembling. Because he _knew_ this. “You have a scar on your jaw because you got in a fist fight with someone. With Eren.”

Jean froze on his hands and knees. He stared up at Smith.

“You’re from a city way down south. Monsters live there and they eat humans. You watched your mom eaten when you were twelve, and your dad when you were fifteen.” Smith seemed to catch himself then, pulling Jean even farther away from his mouth. “But you decided to leave with your family. You couldn’t stand it there so you got a group of seven friends together and decided to leave, but two of them were killed. The first one was eaten, and the other was crushed. You ran still, and made it out okay.” Smith took a shaking breath, wiping his eyes again. “That was six years ago.” 

Jean still stared up at him.

“It’s me,” Smith gasped. “I know I’m not what you remember, but I _swear_ it’s me. It's Marco.”

* * *

 

Jean stared. For a long time he stared until his head started to shake. “You can’t—”

“We are,” Smith pleaded. “We wanted to escape with you. We went through the tunnels. It was you and me in the front of the group, then Connie and Sasha, then Armin, then Mikasa and Eren.” His lip trembled again, his eyes swimming in so much water Jean was just a glowing dot in his hands. “I gave myself up so you guys could keep going. When—When I got here, I had these on my wrists. They won’t go away.” He pushed up one sleeve. It was hard to see in the darkness, but if Jean focused, he could see them. Dark marks on Smith’s skin, bruises, from someone holding him so tight.

A hand slapped over Jean’s mouth.

“I didn’t _know_ ,” Smith cried. His eyebrows crinkled so hard it hurt, and he bit his lip. “But I remember now. I remember you, Jean.”

Jean couldn’t look at him. He could only see the bruises, permanent in whatever form this was. He remembered leaving them there, in that horrible instance when he held Marco and begged him to stay, to turn back, anything but choose  _that._

Jean had never felt he was worth it. How could something as good as Marco believe  _he_ was worth dying for?

“Please look at me, Jean.”

He did, though he couldn’t see through all the tears. “Wha - what happened to you?”

Marco sobbed. “I don’t know.”

Jean’s face crumpled. “We were so lost, Marco. I didn’t - I didn't know what to do after you.”

He bit his lip, and more tears spilled over. “And you're all that's left?”

Jean hesitated. If this really was Marco, he had to tell the truth, but if it wasn't, if Smith was one hell of a liar, he was doomed.

Marco bubbled over with tears again, and he wiped his eyes, sobbing once into his hand. He truly believed his whole family was gone without him.

"No, I - " Jean spoke without thinking, and swallowed once. "I lied about that. We're all...still here. And safe."

Marco stared down at him, and his lower lip trembled. "R-really?"

Jean nodded.

Marco sucked in a breath, but didn’t ask where. It was so _Marco_ of him to do that Jean almost wanted to tell him. “That’s good. I hope you stay that way.”

He was still crying, and the more he did, the more his makeup smeared. The harsh lines on his face melted away, revealing freckles and strange marks on his skin, like it had been burned away a long time ago.

Digested, even.

Jean felt sick in more ways than one. How could this really be Marco? How could the other monster really be Eren? How? _How?_

He froze, tears spilling over his cheeks.

How, if this really was Marco, could he forgive Jean for leaving him behind?

“B-but—” Jean stuttered. “But I left you. This is all my fault! You both died because of me!”

Marco’s throat lurched, eyes widening. “No! No, I chose this. I did this, and I—I have to live with that choice. You had nothing to do with what happened. Please, Jean, don’t blame yourself.”

“But I’m to blame!” Jean exploded. His voice ripped through his esophagus, raw and so, so angry at himself. “I was the one person who could convince you trying to escape was hopeless, and I didn’t! You and Eren died because I let you!”

“So, live with it!” Marco argued back. His voice wasn’t loud—not as loud as it could have been—but that could have been because of how much he’d been crying. “Whether it was your fault or not, _I_ don’t blame you for what happened! Eren doesn’t, either! Because…” Marco caught his breath. “Because it doesn’t matter now.” Marco continued to sober, until the hole in his chest was unavoidable. “It doesn’t matter.”

Jean wanted so bad to rip out his hair, or for Marco to swallow him whole right then. He deserved as much for what he’d done to him and Eren both. “How can you say that? _How_ can you not be angry at all?”

“Because we came back, Jean!” Marco said. He shook his head, so unbelieving that he knew this boy, that Jean acting like this was familiar to him. “For whatever reason, Eren and I came back and we _remember_ everything.”

“But you’re—you’re—”

“Monsters, Jean.” Marco sobered entirely. “We know. We look different, but we’re the same as before.”

“You can’t be okay with that.”

Marco shifted, sat up straighter. “I can’t remember anything other than this, honestly.” He shook his head. “It’s strange: I remember being as tall as you, but not how that felt. I know I should miss it, being like that,” he shook his head again, much slower this time. “But I’m just happy.”

Jean scowled at him, angry that he would choose happiness when there was so much more to be furious for. “Why?”

Marco swallowed. He wouldn’t look at Jean. “Since coming here, something’s been missing inside. Eren says he feels it too.” His eyes misted over again, but nothing spilled over this time. “We could never tell what it was. Killing monsters was something close to it, but not exactly.” Marco’s chin crinkled, and he struggled to breathe normal, finally looking at Jean again. “And that day we found you was the first time I’ve felt so close to whole in a long time.”

Jean stared, feeling his heart ramming right from his chest, reaching out to this possible-Marco. He felt sick because he knew the feeling. What he first thought was hope that not all monsters were so horrible as he’d come to think had changed to something else. He knew now it was that whatever hole that had been ripped through him the day Marco and Eren were killed, it was slowly starting to fill again.

Jean’s eyes brimmed with tears as he stared up at Marco— _his_ Marco. “W-what are we going to do now?”

Marco’s insides burned. He _wanted_ to see everyone, to know with his own eyes that they really were okay, but that couldn’t happen. Not now. “Whatever we choose, Eren and I will protect you through it. All of you.”

Jean swallowed. _We,_ Marco had said. As in team, _family_. They were a whole family again. “W-we’ll have to introduce— _re_ introduce you to everyone.”

Marco nodded. “I need to wash my face.”

Jean nodded, too. “Me, too.”

Marco stood, so careful with Jean because now he meant something real to him, and stepped deeper into the woods. He didn’t like it, but he knew the forest well, and there was a small stream nearby they could use.

The cold water on his face felt nice, though not as nice—as _right_ —as Jean.

“What does it feel like,” Jean wondered. “Being a giant, I mean.” He wasn’t exactly comfortable around Marco yet, but he was trying. Plus, it was easier speaking to the latter when he was out of reach.

The remains of Marco’s face paint washed away easily, but he still stared with a dripping face into the stream. “Hard to explain,” he admitted, and wiped his face on his shoulder. “I can tell that I’m different from how I used to be, but I can’t tell how. And I’m hungry all the time. I used to never be hungry.”

He didn’t say it in a threatening way, but Jean still stiffened. Try as he might not to, deep down, in his lizard brain probably, Jean only felt one thing toward Marco and Eren. He could only hope that it would fade with time.

Marco could sense this. Not by smell necessarily, but the sensation was similar. Almost as if he could smell with his skin, or by the cold sweat on his cheeks. It was a strange sensation, but he didn’t hate it. His head tilted to Jean across the stream from him, heralded by shadows and Cypress trees. “I’d never eat you or the others, Jean. Neither would Eren.”

“I believe you,” Jean said, but didn’t sound like it. “I trust you.”

Again, he didn’t sound truthful, but Marco didn’t say anything on it. He understood.

“How are we…” Jean swallowed. “I know we have tell the others, but… _how_?”

Marco thought about it for a time. He was silent for so long crickets chirped. “I think…one at a time would be best, and…” he chewed his lip. “I think you should tell them first. Make sure they are even willing to believe it all.”

Jean nodded. “They are. Or they will be.” He continued at the confused glance from Marco. “Neither of you know, but Mikasa saw Eren. She’s...had her suspicions from the start. If she’s on my side, they all will be.”

Marco paused, his nose stinging. “…I remember her,” he murmured. There was a faint smile on his lips. “Did I ever tell you about the time she mistook me for Eren and kissed my cheek?”

Jean straightened, shaking his head and wiping his nose where it started dripping. A small grin tugged at his lips. “No.”

Marco chuckled. It was such a Marco sound of him to make, and it tugged at Jean’s heartstrings. “It was just after another division split. Me and Eren got our shifts swapped, and she didn’t know. He’d been in bed all day to prepare for it, and she didn’t even know.” Marco’s eyes took on a melancholy sheen. “I crashed as soon as I got home, wasn’t even paying attention to which bed I fell into.” A hand ran down Marco’s face. Jean didn’t notice until the motion was done that Marco was wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “I didn’t know, but I guess Mikasa would always kiss Eren before leaving for work every day, and I was in his bed. She kissed me instead.”

Jean looked at Marco, a lump rising in his throat. If Marco didn’t miss being human now, he would, Jean could see that much. He grinned so that that time didn’t have to be now, sliding his fingers through his hair. “Didn’t know Eren was such a mama’s boy.” Jean shook his head, a genuine laugh bubbling up from some place he hadn’t visited in a long time. Six years to be exact. “I’m definitely going to give him shit for that.”

Marco laughed too, in that musical way of his. But that laugh slowly died out, Marco’s face crumpling until he hid it behind a hand. “This is so weird,” Marco gasped.

Jean straightened. “What is?”

But Marco was already shaking his head, wiping his eyes again. “Missing someone you forgot you even knew.”

Jean stared up at him, at the long shadows hiding the spidery patterns on the right side of his face. “Me,” he said.

Marco nodded. “You.”

It didn’t take him long to break this time around.

The worst part was the hesitation, that pause before Jean even thought of consoling him. Would it ever go away? Could it be years down the road, after countless conversations and so much trust built, and Jean would still find himself hesitating before sitting closer, before resting his head against him. He’d known Marco for most of his life.

But he’d known monsters longer.

He swallowed that fear, if not permanently, then just for the night. For now. For Marco.

Jean stepped onto a large rock protruding from the stream, balanced precariously on one foot, then loped to the other side. His foot slid on the muddy bank, but he’d snagged onto Marco’s pant leg, and a large hand at his back kept him from slipping.

Jean looked up at Marco, a smooth smile on his face. His back was stiff, a natural reaction to being caught between Marco like that, but Jean dug in his heels and _made_ himself relax.

“It’s good to see you, Marco,” he said. “I missed you.”

Marco’s attempt at a smile was made in earnest, but it was queasy at best. He wiped his eyes with his free hand before they could drip on Jean again. “I missed you, too, Jean.”

It felt nice to just say his name. Something about the soft ‘J’ slipped from Marco’s tongue the same way warm honey dripped from a honeycomb. Jean was just as sweet, just as kind. Marco always knew he was nicer than he let on; his prickly exterior was just that: a front.

There was a time when Marco had been familiar with Jean’s softer insides, when he didn’t have to walk on eggshells just to keep him around. That’s the part he missed, really. He could survive without hugs, kisses even, but the raw, no-need-for-formality-because-we’re-brothers _proximity_ from before? Not in a million years.

If it was possible to do that again, Marco would defend it with his life.

“I should be getting back soon,” Jean murmured against Marco’s leg. He felt so warm here. “The others will worry about me being gone too long. You know how it is.”

Marco chuckled. “They’re right to worry. I hear this forest is full of man-eating monsters.”

The joke was too soon, both knew, but it still lightened the mood. Even if it brought reality back into play, it brought a sense of comfort too. Yes, Marco could be considered one of those man-eating monsters, but that also meant he was the most dangerous thing out there.

It was nice in its own way.

Jean stepped back, his heels dipping into the smooth surface of the stream. “I’ll see if I can talk to them tonight. I’ll come out tomorrow morning around ten to let you know what happens.’

Marco nodded. “I’ll be there.”

Jean couldn’t help grinning. His chest felt so good, like he’d take flight any moment. His hand stayed stuck on Marco until he couldn’t reach anymore, and he slipped into the darkness.

Marco watched him leave for as long as he could bear, until the hole in his chest ached again. “Jean?” he sounded panicked, like he’s been wanting to say his name for a long time and it finally let go.

Jean turned over his shoulder. “Yes?”

Marco wanted so bad to reach out and grab him again, to press him to his lips and breathe in his scent. But he wouldn’t. He’d be patient, until Jean was comfortable enough to ask to stay with him, to ask Marco to escort him home. He’d let Jean come to trust him again, then he’d hold him close, kiss him, and stay with him like he ached to do that moment.

“Sleep well,” Marco said.

Jean stared at him in the dark. At this distance, it was easy to convince himself Marco was a lot smaller than he really was. His voice was gentle, a cloud in the night when he spoke.

“Good night, Marco.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> ["Turning Out"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKeCXlnL5Lg)


	9. Ghosts That We Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little about tying up loose ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! long time no post, eh? good thing i'm in a bad mood lol
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: none. this time.

Eren was staring at his hands when Marco slowly stepped through the door. He'd since stopped vomiting, stopped shuddering, but those hands trembled still. He figured it was shock probably, or maybe he ate something rancid, but he doubted he'd be able to keep anything down with those images scorched into his eyelids each time he blinked. Images of a different body, a different life. It wasn't just him and Marco, but Jean, and Armin, and Sasha and Connie. They'd been a family, and somehow he'd totally forgotten that.

He stared at his hands, remembering Jean perched there looking like he might cry, remembering him say that he was all that was left of his group.

"Did you find him?" Eren asked. His voice was misty. "Did you tell him?"

Marco stared at him a moment before nodding. "He knows - "

Marco's lips curled over his teeth and he sucked in a shuddery breath, blinking back tears. Jean's face was seared into his memory, that trembling fear at seeing Marco turned into...this. He shouldn't have grabbed Jean like that, he should have held it together better. He should have coaxed him out, not cried over him.

But, he guessed, he couldn't really blame himself for being emotional at a time like this.

Eren hissed, and looked away. He rolled his eyes to keep the tears at bay, but they still welled up and obscured everything. Everything was plunged into a sea of water. That is, until he blinked. When his eyes closed, he saw it all: a dark, clawed hand grabbing Marco and carrying him away; those stupid night-vision goggles Armin made; a boot coming down on him so fast he couldn't think. Then...nothing. Nothing but cold, unforgiving black.

"Is he really the only one left?"

Marco sniffed, wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. His head shook so hard and fast his eyes could scarcely keep up. "Uh-uh." He smiled a teary smile, cheeks and eyes a soft pink. "Would you believe the fucking cad lied?"

Eren stared at him. "Then..."

"They're  _all_ alive." More tears welled in Marco's eyes, and he shook his head, eyes sliding heavenward. He was still smiling that sad, unbelieving smile. "My god, they're all okay."

* * *

Though, perhaps  _okay_ wasn't the right way to put things.

The ceiling felt lower when Jean opened his eyes in the morning, and there was another, additional weight on his bed beside him. He blinked at the tangled roots overhead, at the strings of dirt hanging like tree ornaments.

Mikasa’s hand was soft on his shoulder, but he still flinched at her touch.

She didn’t move, only stared at Jean with her steely gaze. She let him sit up, unbothered by his disheveled hair. “Is it true?” Mikasa asked in a voice so soft it made Jean’s own skin feel cold and abrasive in comparison.

Jean stared at her for a long time, his gaze telling her all.

Mikasa didn’t nod, didn’t move until she stood. “Do they know?”

Again, Jean didn’t tell her with words, only with his eyes.

She nodded then. “We will have to tell the others.”

Jean swallowed, pulling his folded legs closer to his chest for the warmth. His voice was a low rasp when he spoke. “How do you propose we go about that?”

Mikasa stood in silence, still as a statue. Her eyes went unfocused, her shoulders lax. “One at a time. Tell them our suspicions, until they all know, then let them see for themselves. But I would,” Mikasa swallowed, and Jean saw for the first time that she was holding back tears. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, her midnight-colored hair the longest it’d ever been. “I want to see Eren before anyone else, if that is allowed.”

Jean nodded, slowly. “I’m meeting up with—with Marco today, if you want to do it then.”

Mikasa nodded. “I’ll bathe. Tell me before you leave.”

She left him alone again, alone to think.

He grabbed a hat. It was a hat day because his hair wouldn’t cooperate, but there would be a lot of crying as well, and Jean didn’t have the darkness to hide it anymore. He dressed in his warmest clothes, and sat in the crisp morning air until Mikasa emerged, her long hair still damp and plaited down her back. She wore a baseball cap as well, probably for the same reason as Jean.

“He’ll be at the edge of the forest,” Jean said, a real warning in his voice. “If you’re thinking of turning back, now’s your last chance.”

Mikasa gave him a serious look. “He’ll take me to my brother?”

Jean’s mouth twitched. He nodded.

Mikasa shook her head. “Then I’m coming. I won’t turn back.”

Jean couldn’t help believing her. He knew Mikasa loved her brother more than life itself, he’d just never taken her for one to put so much hope on the line when there really wasn’t much evidence.

Their walk was silent. Neither was much of a talker, and there wasn’t much to talk about in any case. The forest was silent save for the odd call of bird or crack of stick by some invisble mammal hidden in the thick brambles. The day warmed as they walked, enough that Jean pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows and adjusted his hat.

The sun was scarce, only sparse rays touching the forest floor every hundred feet or so, but it was light, and strangely peaceful. 

Jean never thought he’d think such a thing when referring to a meeting with a monster, and yet…

The world really was a strange place.

They broke the edge of the forest and headed south about half a mile as a precaution, and Jean put his fingers to his lips. He’d always been a good whistler, and a loud one at that. The pitching sound hit the air and warped in their ears.

Jean checked his watch. It was only nine-thirty. He turned to Mikasa. “We agreed at ten. I’ll whistle again in a few minutes.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “You sure you’re not thinking back on this?”

Mikasa gave him a look. “Are you sure you’re not?”

“I’m only asking—”

“I haven’t seen my brother alive in six years, Jean,” Mikasa said. Her voice wasn’t hard, but it was enough for him to stop doubting her. “And this might just be him. I hate monsters, but I hate not having a brother more. If this really is him, I don’t care.” She turned the other way, her steely eyes cold against the warm sun. “And if it isn’t, I’ll kill it for getting my hopes up.”

Jean hated when she spoke like that. She wasn’t near as intense as Eren had been, but sometimes it was like she channeled his spirit right through herself. It was as scary as it was annoying. Besides, a human killing a monster was unheard of.

He whistled again, harder this time, fifteen minutes to the hour. Had Marco forgotten? Had they come this far for nothing? Jean knew in which direction Marco and Eren lived, but it was miles away, and that long with Mikasa seemed stifling.

He whistled again, changing pitch.

It seemed as if this was going nowhere. He’d gotten Mikasa and his own hopes up for nothing, and now they had to get back.

Then the ground shook in a way that was familiar, almost normal to Jean now. He ignored the wobble in his knees at the feeling, his brain reminding of all the horrible things that happened when those tremors got too close. For once, fight-or-flight was wrong.

At least, he hoped it was.

Both looked in the direction of the feeling, and there was Marco with his hands shoved in his pockets. He walked slower than Jean had ever seen, and he scanned the ground before each step.

Jean whistled to get his attention, and waved when Marco looked up. He staunchly ignored the way his stomach twisted when a smile broke over Marco’s face, displaying those blocky fangs.

Marco stopped a good forty yards away from them, and got on his knees. He wouldn’t grab them, wouldn’t scare them anymore than he’d already done. “Good morning,” he greeted in a soft voice that matched the gentle rays of the sun.

Jean nodded. “Good morning, Marco,” he called. “I brought Mikasa with me. I hope that’s all right with you.”

There was a gentle smile in Marco’s eyes when they moved over to Mikasa. He couldn’t see much of her face from the hat she wore, but he couldn’t fight that he knew her. “Your hair is longer.”

Mikasa nodded, cordial, but lukewarm. “You’re taller.”

Marco chuckled. Jokes were not Mikasa’s specialty, but he couldn’t ignore that she was trying to keep this light. “You look good, Mick.” He coughed. “Mikasa.”

The nickname seemed to melt through, and Mikasa was instantly warmer. She took a strong step forward. “So do you, Marco. How’s Eren?”

Marco was taken aback by the sudden change, but welcomed it. He leaned back slightly, so he didn’t loom. “He’s good. He’s talking about you.”

Mikasa still stood like a statue, but Jean could see her trembling. Not from fear, but anticipation. “Please,” she said, “take me to him.” Her voice was so strong, so emotional, yet she was like a rock. “I want to see my brother.”

Marco stared at her, so unused to a human walking right up to him without so much as an ounce of fear. He might have fallen for her in that moment, if he wasn’t already buried in love with someone else. He nodded, slowly at first, but gaining speed. “Okay.”

Mikasa strode up to him, and hopped onto the hand he offered.

Jean stayed behind. How was she not the leader of this group? She was so much stronger than him, so much braver. Yet they all listened to him without a hitch, refused to follow anyone else.

And there was that hesitation again when Marco lifted his eyes to Jean, that heart-stopping, stomach-clenching sense of fear that seized his insides and told him to run, run until he couldn’t anymore. But he managed to swallow it down again, and trotted up to Marco. He sat beside Mikasa, and glanced up at Marco. He tried for an easy smile, but he knew it looked forced.

Mikasa broke the silence, something she never did. “You smell the same.”

Marco stood and turned away from the forest. His chest felt even better than it had the night before. “Is that good?” he wondered, his voice nervous.

Mikasa shrugged, folding her legs and leaning into the gentle curve of Marco’s fingers. “I always thought you had a nice smell. What about you, Jean?”

He hated when the spotlight was on him, especially like this, with nowhere to run.

Marco wanted to tease him, but it was too soon for that. They weren’t casual yet.

Jean swallowed the flush in his cheeks and scratched his neck. “You smell fine to me. Very…clean.” He frowned at the lame ending of his sentence.

Marco managed a small smile, finding the compliment deep down. He looked to the horizon to spare Jean. “Well, thank you.”

“How far out do you live?” Mikasa asked.

 _Probably so she knows how far she’d have to walk to get to Eren_ , Jean thought with an eyeroll. _Not that any distance is too far for her_.

Marco didn’t mind. He was happy for a break in the silence. “Four miles east and about half a mile north.”

Mikasa and Jean shared a short look. That would be about a ten-mile straight shot from where they’d set up camp. And ten miles wasn’t very far, especially for a giant.

“Have any of you gone out to the shore at night?” Marco wondered without looking at them.

Both shook their heads. “We don’t do much night-traveling.”

A sad kind of smile slanted Marco’s lips. “It’s breath-taking. The water is so dark and silent. And the moon lights the whole lake.”

Jean nodded. “It sounds nice.” He felt like he should say more, like they should make plans to go out there together one night, but the thought didn’t sit well in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m not sure if you can see it yet, we may be too far out, but the house is just ahead.” Marco’s eyes locked on something on the horizon, just a dot to Jean and Mikasa.

Mikasa stood, leaning forward against Marco’s fingers and peeking over his fingertips. There was something almost childlike in the way she trembled. “Is Eren there?”

Marco nodded, scarcely concealing the giddy grin on his face. “He knows Jean is with me, but you’ll come as a surprise.”

“You think…” for the first time ever, Jean heard real doubt in Mikasa’s voice. It wavered, like she was holding back a well of tears. “You think he’ll want to see me?”

Jean felt whiplashed. Had she really asked that? Was she really worried about that?

“I know he wants to see you,” Marco smiled. “Ever since he remembered everything, he’s been asking about you non-stop. He’s worried for you.”

Mikasa turned to him. Tears shone in her eyes. “Why?”

Marco shrugged. “I suppose he wants to know how you’re getting along.”

She didn’t say anything in reply. Only sniffed, nodded, and turned back toward the horizon.

Marco stared at the back of her head for a short moment, when his eyes moved to Jean. He looked at him like there was so much he wanted to say, but he couldn’t find the words to say it. It nawed at his insides like a dog, until he blinked and looked away. They were coming onto his and Eren’s home. It was too late to speak up now.

Mikasa looked as if she would burst at the seams as Marco pushed open the door.

The air inside was cold, maybe even colder than the forest was at night, but Marco’s hand was warm. Maybe that was the point.

Inside was silent, until the door slid closed again, then there was a whole commotion of noise toward the back right of the house. Both Mikasa and Jean felt the sound more than heard it, like a heavy vibration buzzing in their teeth.

Marco braced himself, his hand moving closer to his chest out of reflex, and Eren scrambled into the hallway.

Something like electricity charged the air when they all came together like that, and Jean’s back broke out in goose bumps.

Eren stared at Marco’s hand, at the small face peeking out from over his fingertips. He couldn’t see who it was, but he felt it.

Air rushed from Eren’s lungs, and he ran a hand through his hair, brushing the dark tresses from his forehead and revealing a long white scar which zig-zagged from his right eyebrow to his hairline.

Mikasa was trembling again, so hard Jean thought she’d come apart. “Take me closer, please.”

Marco did as she asked, though slowly, just to be sure she didn’t scare herself.

Eren waited, though he twitched the same as Mikasa.

When they were a safe distance, Marco’s fingers straightened so Mikasa knelt on them and stared up at Eren.

He was almost scared to move, so frightened he would scare her away.

Jean could hear her breathing. For once, she wasn’t composed, wasn’t stoic. She was shellshocked and…relieved.

“Eren,” Mikasa said. She didn’t say his name like a question. It was Eren. Even if he didn’t look exactly the same, wasn’t exactly the same, it was still him. He was still her brother.

His hands lifted, shaking and unsure. Jean saw tears in his icy grey eyes.

Then Eren wiped both hands on his pants, sniffed, and scooped Mikasa up. He was careful, so careful, yet not in the same way Marco was. He wasn’t mindful of his mouth, or how close his face was, but he was so quiet. Silent even.

“Mikasa,” he breathed.

And so different from how Marco was, Eren kissed her. He held her close, uncaring if it scared her or not. Because he had his sister back, and that’s just how he was.

But Mikasa wasn’t scared. She trembled and sobbed, but not from fear. She was relieved, in a way that can’t be described.

They clung to each other. So wrapped in emotion were they, that neither much cared that Jean and Marco were still there. Eren turned away, tears streaming from his face, soaking Mikasa to the skin. She stroked his cheek. She rested against his nose. She stared into his shimmery eyes like she couldn’t believe this was happening, that this was true.

Marco and Jean both stared after them, and Marco wiped at his eyes. Secretly, he was resentful that he hadn’t done the same, that Jean wasn’t so unfazed as Mikasa had been, but he wouldn’t let that show. He would be patient. He would show Jean.

“It’s nice to see them together again,” Marco rasped. He cast Jean a glance when he shivered in his hand. “Are you cold?”

Jean stiffened, his head whipping around. “Huh? Oh, no.” He shook his head. “I just…have the chills, I guess.”

Marco knew he was lying for his benefit, and acted on such. He tilted his head at Jean, slowly raising his hand.

Jean immediately went on alert, both hands slapping down on Marco’s palm. He stared at Marco’s mouth, leaning back as he was brought closer, closer.

Marco’s hand tilted, his fingers taking Jean by the shoulders and back so his feet dangled, before smoothly depositing Jean on his shoulder beside his neck.

He ignored how pale Jean looked, and convinced himself he was shaking because of the cold. “So…it’s safe to assume Mikasa believes it all.”

Jean nodded, feeling like his stomach had dropped from his body and now lay somewhere near Marco’s feet. He was dizzy, and rested a hand on Marco’s neck to keep steady. “I think so.”

He sounded like he might faint.

“Then we should go over how to tell the others.”

Sitting in Marco’s hand while he walked versus his shoulder were two very different experiences. His hand was steadier, and somehow less noisy. But his shoulder gave perspective, and felt somehow safer. He was mere feet from teeth and a throat, both of which could kill him easily, and he felt safe.

How was that for irony?

“At first I thought we ought to show them one at a time, but…” Marco shook his head. “Now I’m not so sure. Do you think everyone would be so calm as Mikasa?”

Jean doubted it, and he said as much. “Probably not. But having Mikasa so calm around you will help. If-If one of you could hold her while we bring them out, that may help.”

Marco nodded. His heartbeat thundered next to Jean, fast and excited. “I can’t wait to see them all.”

Jean digested his thoughts before speaking. “It will be a good surprise for them all, I think.”

Marco chewed his lip, moving into the living room. He sat at the couch, but kept Jean by his ear. “I don’t want to scare anyone, Jean. Please know I don’t mean to. Ever.”

Jean rolled his eyes. That was rather debatable, but it would have to be up for debate another time. “You won’t. You’re too kind to scare anyone.”

Marco stared at the floor, at the scratches from the animals that snuck in when the weather was bad. “I scared you,” he murmured.

Jean looked at him, and punched him in the neck. It didn’t have near the effect he wanted; Marco only laughed where it tickled. “That was different and you know it. Neither of us knew it was you.”

Marco grinned. “Do I still scare you?”

Jean wheeled. “Marco—”

“You can tell the truth. I wouldn’t take it personal if you were.”

Jean stared at him for a long time. Marco understood the silence as a confirmation of his suspicion, but Jean still spoke. If only to explain himself.

“Sometimes,” Jean admitted. “But other times, no. It’s all circumstantial, I guess.”

That put Marco more at ease. His voice was gentle. “Do I scare you in this circumstance?”

Jean twitched. Did he? Right now he wasn’t scared, but he was just a few moments ago, when Marco first placed him on his shoulder. “Not anymore.”

“But I did?”

“Sort of.”

“How?”

Jean knew what he was doing. He was trying to get Jean to tell him something, to tell him he’d never be afraid of Marco. But that wasn’t true. Even as humans, Jean never said that. Because the human Marco could be just as scary as the monster Marco.

“You surprised me,” Jean said. He shook his head before leaning it against Marco’s neck. “I’m just getting used to you like this.”

Marco chuckled. It was strange to hear it and feel it at the same time, and Jean buzzed with the feeling. “I’m just a bundle of surprises today,” Marco chirped.

There were only trace amounts of venom in his voice.

“We want this to be a good reunion,” Jean agreed. “So…just be on your best behavior? Even if things start out a little rocky.”

“You sound like you’re having second thoughts,” Marco speculated.

Jean hummed, straightening his legs. “Second thoughts, third thoughts, hundredth…” He shook his head, sighing. “Take your pick.”

One of Marco’s eyebrows quirked. “You always were a cynic.”

Jean scoffed. “I watched my parents _and_ you eaten. Sue me for thinking every scenario through.”

Marco could imagine what most of those scenarios entailed. Blood. Death.

Digestion.

He bristled, and cleared his throat. He didn’t want to think of that right now. “When do you want to do it?”

Jean shrugged. “We may have to do it tonight if Mikasa and Eren don’t wrap it up soon.”

They both looked to the doorway which Eren disappeared through. Of course, Jean worried what was going on through that door, but he swallowed it. Mikasa could take care of herself. In any case, he wanted to trust Marco.

Marco hummed, looking at his hands clasped between his thighs. “I can’t blame them. How long were we sobbing over each other last night?”

If Jean recalled, it was Marco sobbing over him, but he got his drift. It wasn’t fair to expect them to get six years worth of time together in ten minutes. 

But they did have to get back soon.

“I think it’d be best to do it at night,” Jean blurted.

Marco tilted his head to look at him, but couldn’t from the way Jean was rested against his neck. “Why?”

“Because,” he paused. Then he took a breath. _He won’t take it personal_. “Because you guys aren’t as scary in the dark. It makes you seem less invasive.”

Marco stiffened. “Invasive?”

“I mean big,” Jean reassured, then thought. “Though, then it might seem like you have something to hide, and we want everyone to trust you sooner rather than later.”

Marco hummed, his head turning for the one window in the living room. “Why not twilight? It’s still light enough to see us, but the sky will be pink and soft then. Nothing pink can be _that_ menacing.” That last bit was said rather wolfishly.

Jean had his doubts. Give it enough teeth, enough size, and enough malice and a marshmallow could be _that_ menacing. “They may be our best bet, but still, you have to be gentle around these guys. We’ve been through a lot the last few years.”

Marco lost any joking. “I can only imagine.”

Jean hoped that was all he could do. Even if he was a monster now, he couldn’t wish anything horrible upon Marco. It was Marco after all. “Anyway, twilight may be our best bet. That should”—he glanced at the doorway again—“give them enough time to finish up.”

Marco followed Jean's lead, chewing the inside of his cheek the longer he stared at the door. He couldn't help wondering what could be going on, what was being said in there. Mikasa and Eren had been thick as thieves.

He blinked, and his eyes tore away. He and Jean had been that close some time ago. To him it didn't feel like that long, but looking at Jean with his silver hair and tired face, it probably felt like a lifetime ago for him.

Not to mention how miserable Marco felt knowing that they  _could_ be that close again, yet they weren't.

Marco sat in his own silence for a moment. His voice was a little distant when he spoke up again, eyes focused on some invisible point in the room. "Jean?"

Jean blinked, and looked at Marco best he could. It was hard to get a grasp on what his face looked like from this angle. "Hm?"

Marco still stared into that invisible space, and his eyes narrowed a fraction, head turning toward Jean to show he was talking to him. "Before we left...Sasha was pregnant."

Jean nodded. "Uh-huh."

Marco wet his lips, dreading the answer. "What...happened?"

Jean squirmed, mostly because he wasn't sure if Sasha would even want him knowing, but also because he knew Marco would likely start crying once he found out. "Uhm, well...you're...an uncle...?"

Marco's back went straight, and Jean almost fell backward, but caught himself at the last second. His face was the picture of surprise, yet Marco's voice was soft as ever, not fully sure he heard him correctly.

"What?"

Jean's eyes flicked back and forth, and he picked at his nails. "Yeah, uh, she gave birth a few months after...you know. Had a girl."

Marco's nostrils flared as he was hit with a sudden wave of chills. He wet his lips again. "And her name?"

Jean chewed his lip. "It's..." he took a shallow breath. "Her name's Marcie."

Jean could actually feel the way Marco's heartbeat stopped for a solid second, then picked up double-time. He watched as goosebumps prickled up the side of Marco's neck, and the hair on his arms stood on end. It was strangely similar to watching water ripple in a pond.

Marco proper made a faint noise at the back of his throat, a bit like a hum but much too high. "Oh," he said, and his voice was raspy.

"She's a smart one," Jean started slowly. "And really cute. She likes to help her mom."

Marco's throat lurched again, and he nodded. Jean could see he was holding back tears, and had to give it to his valiant effort. Marco's lips curled over his teeth, and he sucked a breath through his nostrils, looking at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," he rasped.

Jean tilted his head. "What for?"

Marco shook his head once, sniffing and clearing his throat. "Hard to pick just one thing. In general, I guess. I'm sorry."

Jean rested a hand on the side of Marco's neck, and regretted it almost instantly. The moment his skin made contact, something pushed through him like a stiff gust of air and he was suddenly sixteen again, and Marco was fifteen.

_"I don't know what to do now," Jean sobbed, and it was true. "He was all I had left and now he's gone!"_

_Marco simply held him, unspeaking. Despite the distance in their ages, Marco had been at least three inches taller than Jean for nearly four years now._

_"I fucking hate him!" Jean screamed into Marco's chest. "How could he let this happen?!" His fists gnarled in the back of Marco's jacket, shaking and so tight they hurt. "Why would he leave me like that?!"_

_Marco didn't say anything for a long time, just waited for Jean to get all of it out. He was good at that. He was good at standing strong for others while they finally crumbled under the weight of it all._

_Jean screamed again, squeezing Marco so tight it hurt them both, but Marco wouldn't say anything while Jean was like this. It was a horribly broken sound, that scream, something one only heard on the lips of a boy who'd just lost his father. It clawed at Jean's inner throat until it burned with acid, and he was coughing for a long while afterward._

_Eventually, Jean coughed himself into vomiting, crouched to the ground to avoid getting any on Marco. He heaved and spat until there was nothing left, but he stayed in the dirt. He felt he belonged there._

_Then, so softly he barely noticed at first, a hand fell to his back, and Jean wiped his mouth before glancing up at the boy beside him. Marco's eyes were gentle, and he stooped down so he was eye level with Jean. His hand was still softer than the late-August breeze as it slowly moved up to touch Jean by the back of the neck, squeezing once just under his ears to ground him._

_"Wanna spend the night at my place?" he asked._

_Jean could only stare in wonder at the boy. How something so heavenly could stoop beside him in the dirt and squalor didn't make sense. Marco didn't deserve this, and Jean didn't deserve him._

_Yet he still kissed Marco. He mashed their lips together with such tenacity he was shaking, held on like it was only him and Marco and nothing else. It tasted like vomit and salt, but neither cared. Marco only wanted to show Jean he was loved, and Jean only wanted to be loved._

_"I love you," Jean sobbed against Marco._

_And it was true_.

Jean snagged his hand away, wiping his clammy palm on his leg. His breathing was ragged, and his forehead felt hot with sweat. As far as he could tell, Marco hadn't noticed any of what had just happened. Whatever that was, it was only Jean who'd experienced it.

"There's no need to feel sorry, Marco," Jean said, voice weak. 

Marco sighed then, his eyes falling shut. "God, you have no idea how weird it is missing a name you forgot you even had."

Jean twitched at that. Did that mean Marco wanted him to say his name again? He didn't want to if something weird would happen. This whole situation was weird enough to begin with, and he was no good with strange.

Marco perked up then, and his pointed ears actually  _twitched_. "They're almost finished," he said.

Jean's head cocked to one side. "You can hear them?"

Marco paused a moment, then nodded. "I can hear them. A little. Only every few words."

Jean let that sink in. How odd...He knew monsters had excellent senses, but this was... _he_ couldn't even hear them. How much had Marco heard then? From both Eren and Mikasa  _and_ Jean?

"Do I make you nervous?" Marco wondered suddenly, and Jean nearly leapt from his skin.

Jean took a breath. "What kind of question is that?"

Marco was silent for a stretched moment. His head was still turned, and Jean ached to see his expression to at least get a guess what he was thinking. His voice gave nothing away. "You're heart's beating fast, Jean."

There was another weighted silence. Jean's eyebrows were crinkled into a scowl when he finally answered. "Of course you do."

He felt as Marco's shoulders dropped, and Jean's scowl only deepened. Did Marco really expect something else? Or for Jean to lie for his benefit? He was a  _monster_ for heaven's sake. If anything, he should do something for Jean's benefit like. Like...something.

Jean couldn't think of anything Marco could do which would make him less frightening, but he was certain to tell him when he came up with something.

Jean flinched at an awful grating sound and glanced down when he saw it was only Marco's claws scratching and picking at each other. 

What, was  _Marco_ nervous?

"Would you hold it against me if I didn't want to meet everyone tonight?" Marco blurted.

Jean stared at his profile for a long moment. "Why not?"

Marco seemed to weigh his words individually, and with the utmost care. He chewed his lip as he pieced sentences together in his head before slowly, so slowly, he spoke them. "I can smell fear. And...I don't know how I'll feel smelling the people I care about being afraid of me." He swallowed, a gesture that forced Jean to look away, his back to go stiff. "I don't know if I could handle that."

Jean thought long and hard about it, and Marco wasn't wrong. He found it difficult conjuring up words of comfort, something that would put Marco's mind at ease. 

"I can't imagine it will ever be  _easy_ facing them for the first time," Jean started. He tried putting himself in Marco's place, and it was difficult. Did monsters even have the same feelings humans did? How could they stand to eat humans alive if that were the case? "But...it's for the best. And, I'm sure this isn't much to lean on, but Mikasa and I will be there with you. You don't have to go at it alone."

Marco sucked in a long, slow breath through his nose, and his eyelids fell on the exhale. "Thank you, Jean."

Jean nodded, and answered anyway. "No problem."

Silence fell for the umpteenth time, and Marco couldn't help glancing at Eren's door again. He wondered what they were doing, where Mikasa was sitting or standing. No doubt Eren still held her, and no doubt she wasn't bothered a single bit.

The same resentful fist squeezed Marco by the insides at the thought, but then he sighed and remembered Jean was with him now. Already he was making progress with him. It was only a matter of time.

"Hey, Marco?"

He flinched at his name. "Yes?"

Jean almost floundered, and if Marco wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of a smile in his voice. "What's, uh, what's up with the blond?"

There was a split second of silence before Jean watched as color blotched up Marco's neck and permeated his cheeks. His mouth opened a fraction, and he made a strange noise at the back of his throat before smiling and ducking his head.

"It's stupid," Marco hummed.

Jean rolled his eyes. "I'm in no place to judge you right now. You can tell me, if you want."

Again, Marco paused. In the meantime, his hand came up to tangle in the short hair by his ear. "I...for some reason I'd never liked my hair. I don't like looking at myself anyway, but I guess the blond makes it a little easier. I've always liked blonds." He blinked, and a slow smile crept over his lips. "Guess it makes sense now, huh?"

Jean didn't want to think what Marco was into. He didn't want to think anything like that about him, especially not with his mouth so close.

Luckily enough, he didn't have to for long. An echoey sort of whine reverberated from the far end of the hall not two minutes after Marco said that, and Jean felt the rhythmic vibrations of Eren sauntering back out of his room. He had a different look to him, and not just because he'd been crying. He almost looked...relieved. In a way Jean couldn't quite describe, Eren looked like some immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He couldn't see much of Mikasa from where he sat, but he was certain she'd probably look the same way.

"You didn't drown Mikasa, did you?" Marco wondered with a grin, his eyebrows creeping up to his hairline. "She's my sister too, you know."

Eren glared at him, but there was little venom in that gaze. He fought a smile of his own. "Get fucked, Bodt. She's all mine."

Marco chuckled, shook his head. He leaned forward - delicate so as not to knock Jean off balance - and steepled his fingers. "We were just talking," Marco said. "Trying to decide when to meet everyone. We were thinking maybe tonight would be best."

Jean's back stiffened, and he glanced up Marco's profile, but Marco didn't return his gaze. 

Eren stepped forward, and Jean could see now that Mikasa was on his shoulder the same way he was on Marco's, only she looked like she belonged there. "I'm game. I wanna see everyone so I know Jeanbo didn't lie again." His pale eyes narrowed in the aforementioned's direction, and Jean felt his back break out in hives. 

Marco rolled his shoulder, the one Jean perched on, and fixed Eren with a challenging smirk. "You can't touch him. He's all mine."

Again, Jean went stiff, but tried not to draw attention to himself in doing so.

"We should go then," Mikasa's voice somehow managed to carry to all ears in the room. "It will take a long time to set up for this."

"Will you be meeting us there, or should we set up a special place?" Jean surprised even himself in asking.

There was a thoughtful silence. Marco was the first to speak.

"You live somewhere near that creek from last night, no?"

Jean could see the image in his head. First of the babbling creek, then the darkness, then that crisp makeup melting away in favor of freckles and scars and tears. "Yes."

Marco turned to Eren then. "I know the way. We can meet you there."

"What time?"

"Dusk."

They all paused to look out the window in succession. It was just past noon if Jean had to guess, but it'd take them at least an hour and a half to get home, and that was if Marco or Eren took them to the forest edge again.

"I second Mikasa," Jean piped in. "If we're really going to do this, we needa get going so they don't think something's up."

He felt Marco's shoulder fall, didn't have to guess what that meant. "At least let us take you to the forest again."

He really didn't want to, but it wasn't like he could say so. Mikasa wouldn't back him up, and as strange as it was, he didn't _want_ to hurt Marco. Besides, this gave him more time to think over how they should do this.

"Of course," Jean said, though it sounded a little more like _do we have to?_

When they were at the edge of the forest again, with Jean's feet safe on the ground and Mikasa's cap twisted around so her eyes were visible, again, the monsters stalled.

"How should we dress?" Eren demanded.

"How long should we stay?" Marco wondered.

"Is a tux _too_ formal?"

"Is there anything we shouldn't talk about?"

"What about dress-casual?"

"What if they don't come out?"

"We don't know," Jean said, palms out to both of them. "We're improvising as much as you guys are. I don't think it matters what you wear."

"As long as you don't look like a dick," Marco snorted and elbowed Eren in the ribs. He earned himself a flick in the ear and a near-slap in the face.

"All that matters is being patient," Mikasa stepped in. "They've been through a lot, especially in the last year. More likely than not, they won't be very kind at first. Please, don't take it personal."

Marco wanted to look at Jean, but refrained.

In fact, both monsters sobered then. They straightened, and stopped razzing each other. "Of course not."

Mikasa looked at Jean, then Eren. She reached a hand out to him, and rested her forehead against a single finger. Her eyes fell closed for a second. Then she looked up at him, and smiled a fraction. "We'll see you tonight."

Then she pulled away, and left ahead of Jean.

He wasn't like her. Both hands remained shoved in his pockets, and he wouldn't allow his eyes to linger on either monster for longer than a second. He felt he should say something more, but nothing came to mind. So, he nodded, "Bye," and turned after Mikasa without another word.

Marco could hardly stand the excitement building in his chest. The normal ache had been replaced with something else. It still hurt, but more like an exhausted soreness than a healed scar. Like he'd been exercising his insides.

He didn't notice the tears in his eyes until he turned to Eren.

"Would you cut my hair?"

* * *

Marco and Eren both were enormous bundles of nerves which spilled over onto Jean and Mikasa successively. Marco chewed his lip until it bled, then he chewed some more. Eren couldn't seem to get his palms dry enough to his liking as he continuously wiped his hands on his legs.

And they  _paced_. Back and forth they paced until Jean's head spun.

They all had enough, had a moment of recon, when Eren finally started crying.

"But what if this doesn't work? What if we meet them and we scare them to death? That's happened! I've literally scared something so bad it died!"

Eren's hands tangled in his shaggy hair, pulling at his scalp and revealing more of those lightning-like scars all over his face.

Jean looked up at Marco from his perch on a tree branch that was more or less eye-level with the monsters.

Marco shrugged.

"Oh, gods," Eren sighed and the pacing started again. "I'm an uncle now! I can't take care of a fucking kid! Not a human kid! What if - what if she's scared of me too? What if she cries?"

Marco walked up to him, and halted his pacing with two strong hands on Eren's wrists. "That's not going to happen. Jean and Mikasa are here. They'll help the others believe. We just need to have some faith in them." He wiped the tears from Eren's cheek and brushed his hair from his forehead. "You're just nervous. I am too. I think - " Marco's eyes wandered to Mikasa and Jean on their branch. He sighed. "I think we all are. But this  _will_ work, Eren."

Eren still looked frantic. He twitched, eyes wide and terrified of what was to come. He was reminiscent of a deer. "Please tell me my name again."

Marco was focused. It was as if Mikasa and Jean weren't even there, only he and Eren in that vast expanse of forest. "You're Eren. You've always been Eren and you always will be Eren, and I'll always be Marco, and these guys will always be our family.  _Your_ family."

Jean felt uncomfortable watching the exchange, like he was an interloper on a personal topic. He glanced at his knees, and took note of the way Mikasa practically vibrated beside him.

_I'll always be Marco. I'll always be Marco._

It played through Jean's head like a mantra. A strange combination of words that should have made perfect sense to him, but didn't. He glanced back at Marco and Eren. Yes, they were the same, and yet, not. He could tell even now Marco was  _Marco_ , but he wasn't... _his_ Marco. He didn't understand what that meant, but he did.

Marco was the same as before, only entirely different at the same time.

His eyes were still brown, only much paler with a little blue. His hair was still dark, almost black, but only because Eren had taken an inexperienced hand and hacked that awful blond away. Now it exposed the pointed ears and the sharper angles of his face.

Then Marco looked up, when he hugged Eren with his hand still in his hair, and glanced at Jean from over Eren's head. Such a human gesture, a  _humane_ gesture, but Jean could only see the monstrous parts. The claws. The fangs. The eyes that were just a little too big to look natural.

He looked away.

"We can do this," Marco said, his voice a low whisper. "You can do this, and I can do this. Everything is going to be fine."

There was a long beat, in which Mikasa stood and began pacing herself, when no one spoke. Marco simply held Eren, Eren held him, and Jean held his breath.

And the two monsters broke apart after that beat almost like nothing had happened. Eren sniffed and brushed his hair from his face one more time, wiped his eyes one more time, before he was composed again. He took a breath and released it. "Okay. Let's do this."

Marco's eyes were gentle. "Jean?"

Jean leapt. "What?"

A faint grin lifted the corner of Marco's mouth. "Care to lead the way?"

Jean swallowed, but Mikasa was already straightening, wiping the stray bark from her thighs and backside. There was a moment's pause on Eren's end before he held his hands cupped before her, and she gingerly leapt into them. Eren sniffed again, bringing her to his shoulder, and Mikasa rested her head against his neck.

There was that heart-stopping moment again as Marco lifted his hand for Jean. He wasn't near as elegant as Mikasa had been, gracelessly shimmying from the branch and tumbling onto Marco's fingers. He nearly fell backward, but Marco's reflexes were fast, and he caught him.

Though, from the way he was surrounded by hands on all sides, Jean almost wished he hadn't.

"Are you all right?" Marco murmured to him once Jean was safe between the folds of his jacket and his shoulder.

Jean stared at his hands. "Yes. Thank you."

Marco hummed. "Anytime."

The walk back to the caverns was much shorter than Jean had been wanting, but he'd expected that much. It wasn't long at all before he recognized the land in a way one only did with a place they'd been to countless times, and the faint trickling of the creek dancing up to his ears. Somehow Marco had timed it perfectly so they got there right as the forest was shading, when the tree trunks caught the dwindling sunlight just right. Shadows stretched and shifted across the dirt, but it wasn't scary. They could all still see everything.

Jean collapsed on his knees when Marco let him down, but staggered back to his feet in a flash. Last thing he needed Marco to see was how weak his knees were around him. He'd probably read it wrong. 

Jean brushed his hands on his knees and straightened his jacket before turning to the monsters kneeling behind him. "We'll be back. We need a little time to...you know."

They both nodded, Marco with a faint glimmer in his eyes. 

Jean exchanged a look with Mikasa. "No hiding, and keep your voices under control if you can."

They nodded again, and Mikasa stepped forward. "There's something else you need to know. Connie was hurt. He..." Somehow, she struggled to put it into words.

Jean closed his eyes. "His leg's been amputated."

Eren and Marco both gasped. 

"Gods," Eren swore.

"He's healing well physically, but he's...vulnerable. He may be the hardest to convince, so don't take it personal."

Marco glanced around, at Eren, then back at Jean. "Maybe we should wait then."

Mikasa side-eyed Jean before addressing them. "It will be best if we get it over with now. This forest isn't sustainable on food, and we'll need your help moving him out of here. It's safer this way."

There was a pregnant moment of nothing but silence. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath.

Marco and Eren exchanged a brief look, and Eren gave the faintest shake of the head. He looked like he would cry again.

Marco swallowed before turning to gaze at Mikasa, then Jean. He shrugged. "May as well."

His voice was nothing but a whisper.

After nodding but not speaking, Jean went inside. Mikasa stayed with her brother. She strode up to his hand palm-down in the leaves and dirt, brushing a smooth hand over his knuckle. "This will work, Eren," she promised.

Again, the caverns felt muggy compared to outside. Steam clung to Jean's skin, and he wiped his brow. "Armin?"

Moving deeper inside, he found all of them. Sasha sat beside her husband, sifting her fingers through his hair and rubbing smooth lines across her swelling belly. They looked so perfect there, so at peace with the world.

Armin was with Marcie on the stacks of furs and jackets they used as beds, playing a card game they'd made up on small bits of leather. He didn't seem to be winning, which he didn't seem bothered by.

"Cici!" Jean grinned. He mussed her hair and tugged one of her ears, and Marcie laughed. "Can I talk to Armin for a little bit? Why don't you go talk to Wren?"

She stared up at him a moment. It wasn't like Jean to be so visibly affectionate without reason. She could see in his eyes that he wasn't there to argue, so she set her cards down and did as he asked, glancing over her shoulder at him once before settling beside her mother.

Armin pinched his nose and wiped his eyes, setting his cards down. "Would you believe I've stopped letting her win? She's smart."

Jean sat in Marcie's place. "There's something I need to tell you."

Armin paused, let his hand fall in his lap. "What is it?"

Jean's mouth opened, but closed as he glanced over his shoulder one more time. "Mikasa and I...found something. We...think it might be..."

The words stuck in his throat.

Armin blinked. "Think it might be what?"

Jean swallowed and tried again. "The reason we've been going out hunting so much is..."

Armin waited.

"It's - we - ugh!" Jean shook his head and took a deep breath through his nose. "This isn't working. What I'm asking is, do you trust me? And Mikasa?"

Armin made a face. "What's going on?"

"Answer the question, please."

Armin stared at him for a moment.

"Please, Armin."

There was another second before Armin nodded. "Yes. I do. I trust you with my life, Jean."

Jean sighed. "Okay. Then...follow me. There's something I need to show you. It's easier to just show you."

Armin shrank back from his hand. "What's easier?"

Jean glanced over his shoulder again. "Can I tell you somewhere a little more private?"

The look on Armin's face made talking harder, but he still allowed Jean to take him to the entrance of the caverns, whispering before the steps outside. Jean took another breath. Again, talking was easier when Armin couldn't see him. "We think we've found Marco and Eren. Alive."

Armin didn't speak. He made noises in his throat, but they couldn't be classified as real words. 

"I know how that sounds," Jean said. "But you have to trust me. Mikasa's out there with them right now."

Armin was stone. He wouldn't be moved. "Jean..."

"I know how it sounds. Believe me, I know. I'm having trouble believing it myself." Jean held out a shaking hand for Armin. "Would you trust me on this?"

He held his hand up, and for a long time it looked like Armin would shake his head and call him crazy, but then something even more crazy happened.

Armin took Jean's hand.

"I still think you're nuts," he promised, "but if Mikasa believes this too, then I guess I'll have to see for myself."

Jean felt his heart in his throat, and lead the way out. 

It was cool outside, a soft breeze blowing the smell of mulch across the ground, turning leaves. It was a lovely, clear evening on all accounts, and Armin reveled in it. He didn't go out as much as he'd like, didn't see the sun like he needed, and even if this wasn't real, it was something he wanted to revisit in his dreams that night.

His free hand pressed into the dirt, and he stepped out into the air, sighing deep with his eyes shut.

Then a voice came from his right, one he thought he'd remember always, but which felt foreign to his ears.

"Armin?"

His head snapped to the side, and Armin's knees gave out from under him. His hand was still tight in Jean's, and he nearly took him down too.

"Calm down," Jean soothed as Armin tried to get his hand free. "Armin, calm down."

"If this is your idea of a joke, it isn't funny!" Armin hissed, and tried to break free. "Let me go, Jean! You've lost it!"

Jean scowled and his hand tightened. He yanked backward and grabbed Armin by the shoulders. "Think of monsters, Armin. Remember them. Do these act like that?" He held him. "Just wait. Listen." He waited until Armin stopped struggling. "Eren, say it again."

There was a pause, a faint sniffle, then a quiet voice broke out, wobbling and heartbroken. "Armin."

He stiffened in Jean's arms, and Eren spoke again, pleading. "It's me."

Jean waited for that to sink in. "Now, I want you to look."

Armin did, slowly. He turned his head from Jean's chest and slowly, painstakingly, opened one eye, then the other. And he stared. 

He stared right at Eren.

Mikasa was perched on his knee, and she looked calm. There was another monster beside him, but he was still as a statue. Eren himself had tears in his eyes and on his cheeks.

Armin still stared.

Mikasa got up without interference, and strode up to them. "May I show you something?"

She had to peel Armin from Jean's shoulders so he stood facing Eren. She looked at her brother. "Bring you hand over. Slowly."

He did as she said, and Armin could see the way it trembled before him, the way this monster kept wiping his eyes and nose on his collar. 

Mikasa stepped away from him, turned her back to a monster, and set her hand atop Eren's knuckle. "Do you trust us?"

He didn't answer, not verbally. He only stared at that trembling hand, then at the monster it belonged to. Its hair was long, and dark. It swished into its eyes on occasion. Those wide eyes like lightning.

Armin's eyes moved to the monster's lips. "I-I want him to - " he swallowed, raised his voice and addressed the monster directly. "I want you to smile. Showing your fa - teeth."

Eren paused again, wiping his eyes and brushing his hair back. Smiling was difficult when one was crying, but he managed. Sort of. To Jean, it looked more like a grimace.

But Armin stared at that smile, and his whole body trembled. His breathing went heavy, and he blinked a lot. He swiped at his eyes, and a watery smile broke over his lips. He stumbled forward, hesitating only once before lifting a precarious hand and resting it beside Mikasa's. He gasped around a sob, touching skin that was so different and so much the same. It didn't make sense, only, somehow it did.

Jean didn't miss the way Marco's hand found his mouth and he swallowed around a brick of tears. He glanced up at him, and offered a half-smile before looking away.

Armin made a gulping sound, wiping his mouth as his other hand traced the scarred skin at the back of Eren's hand. "W-what happened to you two?"

Eren sniffled again, smiling despite the tears still in his eyes. "I dunno."

Armin's chin quivered, and his palm flattened. He hated this, and didn't. "I'm sorry. I - I didn't mean to freak out earlier."

"We don't take it personal," Marco said.

Armin turned to him then, and their exchange was something similar to his and Eren's before.

Jean watched with folded arms from a few feet behind Armin when the familiar sound of sifting dirt caught up to him. He turned over his shoulder just as the latch closed, but not before spotting a familiar patch of deep red hair, so deep you couldn't tell it was red until she was in the sun.

He looked back over his shoulder, taking a step back for stepping up to the latch and peeling it back.

Sasha sat with her head to the wall, shoulders slumped and shivering, and Jean could see that her hand was pressed to her mouth. He stood there for a moment before stepping down and touching her neck. She flinched, and sniffed.

"This is a dream, Jean," Sasha cried behind her hand.

"If it is, then there's nothing to be afraid of."

She clicked her tongue, and he could imagine her eyes rolling. "And if it isn't?"

Jean paused. "You'll be grateful."

Sasha sighed and pulled her hand away. Her knuckles still pressed to her lips as she trembled and thought. She took a breath. "Then take me up there."

He did. She was harder than Armin, but only because he had to help her stand and stay standing, especially when she saw Marco and he saw her.

"This is a dream," she repeated. "This is a dream and I don't want to wake up. I want to stay here, Jean."

It was Marco's turn to sob, and he didn't have to be patient like Eren did. The moment Sasha touched him, she knew who he was. "You smell so good! Just like before!" She hugged his knuckle and even let him touch her belly. He scooped her up after a moment's hesitation, something in his chest expanding when he got a good look at her. She was beautiful, just the same as she was when he left. She even let him kiss her, and it felt nice to be received. 

Jean knew it was Connie's turn next. He turned to Mikasa. "Would you help me bring him out?"

He was barely lucid. The heat of the spring had been good for him at first, but now it was stifling. He was clammy, and pale. He hadn't been eating much, and he seemed to be asleep more than he was awake.

"Can I help?" Marcie asked. "Where are you taking him? Are you going outside? What's out there?" She tried to peek out where Sasha held the latch up with her leg. "Can I lead?"

"Follow behind us," Jean tried for patience, but there was a reason he wasn't a father. "We have a surprise for you, but we need to get your daddy outside first."

"Count as high as you can before following us, okay?" Mikasa suggested, voice heavy with the weight of Connie on her shoulders. Her thighs burned as she stumbled up the slope.

"Where're we goin', guys?" Connie slurred. "We moving? I can't feel my leg."

"Don't worry about it, bud," Jean huffed. "We got ya."

"What about the monsters? You guys can't just carry me like this, I'll slow you down." Connie's face was pale, clammy, the consistency of old oatmeal. "Maybe you should leave me behind. I'm dead weight like this."

"We're not leaving you," Jean grumbled. "We're showing you something. It'll help you."

"But my leg..." Connie glanced down where his right leg should be, but wasn't. "I-I can't walk. I - " his head broke the surface then. The cool breeze caressed his cheeks, and he took a breath as his eyes fell on Marco with his hand outstretched to Sasha. "I'm going nuts, aren't I? I think I'm seeing things, guys."

"You're not. There are really monsters here, and they're the good ones."

Connie couldn't process who said what. He could barely process what was going on before him. "There are good monsters?"

Jean and Mikasa shared a look. Jean couldn't help wondering as much himself, but he wasn't about to ruin this night for them. "We didn't know it was possible, either."

Connie stared at Marco, then Eren, then Marco again. Mikasa and Jean could see the cogs turning, the synapses firing. He recognized them, but he didn't believe it was real. All he did was stare.

Sasha looked up then, and she beamed. "Can you believe it, honey?"

Connie stared.

Then his eyes rolled back and his mouth slacked. He fell into Jean - he had no leg there to stop him - and Jean stumbled under the unexpected weight. At the same time, Marco anticipated which direction things were going, his hand shooting out lightning fast to catch Jean before Connie took him to the ground. 

Connie made a drugged noise and his eyes fluttered, but he didn't rouse.

Jean's back itched from the heat of Marco's palm.

"Sorry, I - " Marco's hand lowered so Jean sat with Connie in his arms. "I didn't want you to fall."

 _Funny coming from someone who tried to eat me a few weeks ago,_ Jean thought, but said nothing. He cradled Connie's head and Mikasa took his ankle to straighten out his leg.

"He does that sometimes but he'll be fine," Sasha smiled. Her husband had turned into a real worry wart since fatherhood. "He'll come to in a few minutes."

Eren wrang his hands before him and chewed his lip. "I've scared something so bad it died."

It was muttered, a mere utterance swallowed in the dense foliage before anyone could hear, but still Marco reached over with his free hand and rapped Eren on the arm with his knuckle. A concerned look skewed the scars on Marco's face.

All was still for a few beats. There was the rustle of wind through the wood, and the steady song of crickets slowly pulsing around them. Somehow, it felt as it used to when Jean was back in Monsterland and he and the others were all crammed in that two-bedroom apartment. It felt good, in a strange way.

Then the latch crumbled again, and Marcie burst out from below.

"Mommy, what comes after one hundred but when you're counting in the other direction?"

"Marcie!"

"Wha-" Her curls bounced as she whipped her head around at Jean's sharp voice, but her voice choked off and she latched to her mother at the sight of Marco and Eren looming like bad weather in the shadows. She didn't cry, hardly made a noise, only stared with her wide, dark eyes.

Marco did lean to one side, if only to get a better look at her.

"Oh, Marcie," Sasha chuckled and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. Marcie's little hand clutched to her shirt. "Don't be like that. Is that how we greet people?"

Marcie pulled away and looked up at her mother, her mouth hanging. "But they're..." she whispered. Her eyes flitted between Marco and Eren and Sasha.

"Family," Armin finished for her. Still - miraculously - he stood just under Eren, in the curve between his index and thumb. His blond hair was like silver in the night, one of the few things which still held an ounce of light as the sun was swallowed in the trees. "They're family, Marcie."

 _Family?_ She knew all of her family already, didn't she? Except for the two boys who died before she was born, but she'd imagined those two to be a lot smaller. And Jean always told her to be wary of things that were bigger than her. Wouldn't he mention family then? That there were some exceptions?

If these two giants were her family, why did they scare her?

She stared up at the one with the long hair. He had a lot of scars on his face. She wanted to know what from, but she'd learned from her mom that it wasn't polite to ask such questions. She couldn't help how tiny her voice was when she finally spoke.

"Hello..."

The boy with the scarred face stared down at her for a long time before he slowly nodded. "Hi. What's your name?"

She stepped even farther behind her mother, her eyes falling to the earth. "Marcie..."

There was a sharp intake of breath and Marcie's eyes zipped to the other giant. His hair was a lot shorter, and his face was covered in red patches. He was bigger than the other, but not by much, and he was skinnier. There were tears in his eyes; he had a lot of freckles.

Marcie tilted her head at this giant, and saw that his mouth was crammed with big, blocky fangs. "Why are you crying?"

Marco sighed, chuckled, only it sounded more like he was sobbing. "I'm sorry, Marcie." He wiped at his eyes. "You're just very pretty. I thought I was looking at an angel."

She beamed up at him, leaned away from her mother, though she still held Sasha's shirt in a vice. "Really?"

Marco nodded again, sniffed again.

She hit him with the full force of her smile, then turned to Eren. She looked between the two of them for a moment. "What are your names?"

Marco and Eren exchanged short looks. "My name is Eren," Eren said.

"I'm Marco."

She stared at him.

"Would you like to shake hands, honey?" Sasha whispered in a smooth voice. "They're very nice. And warm."

Marcie's eyes dropped to Marco's hand - or, claw - before flitting back up to him with that same, odd expression.

Sasha laughed, and beckoned Marco closer with her own hand. He hesitated, then moved painstakingly closer. Palm-down, fingers curved slightly to hide his claws, he moved his hand so Sasha could rest hers on his knuckle.

Marcie bristled at the proximity, and shot away, slinking down into the dirt latch like a deer. 

Marco stared after her, feeling his heart shrivel like a raisin.

Sasha turned back to him, and leaned extra close. "Don't worry, hon," she soothed. He'd forgotten how motherly she was, even before she'd birthed. He'd missed that. "She'll come around - "

The latch crumbled again, and Marcie crawled out. She held a piece of paper in her little hand, those dark eyes flitting between it and Marco. She stood like that for a long moment, appearing deep in thought.

Finally, Marcie said, "You look like him."

The air didn't crackle. There was no charge of energy or a strange breeze on the air. But Marco and Jean both felt something zap through their heart in succession - similar types of emotion, though not the same.

 _That's my picture_ , Jean thought.

And Marco thought,  _Jean told her about me_.

It was all very strange, really. Jean couldn't measure just how devastating that picture could be to him if Marco knew just how much he'd kissed it all these years. Yet, somehow, he wanted him to know. Not in a consoling way, but so Marco would know the real state he'd left Jean in. It wasn't a good one, and Jean needed him to know that. If only so he would know he wouldn't be forgiven so easily as he thought.

When darkness had taken hold of all of them and the monsters' eyes had a faint glow to them, Mikasa knew it was time to bid farewell. For now at least. It was too late in the night to start packing, and she was certain the monsters' would need some time to prepare for them in any case. She hated to put them on the spot like that.

And Eren and Marco both hated to admit they weren't prepared in the slightest. It was all a bit much to take in all at once.

"I need to get to bed," Mikasa said. "Will we see you tomorrow?"

Both monsters nodded. "Yes," Marco said at the same time Eren blurted "Of course!"

Armin bowed his head with a faint chuckle. "I guess we're packing then."

Connie hummed drunkenly. Whether it was in agreement, or just a noise he made at random, no one really knew. Sasha and Mikasa - after leaning in to kiss Eren's knuckle once - helped him back inside. The steamy heat was welcomed after the dry chill of the evening.

"Come on, Marcie-girl!" Armin growled and took her by the hand. He swung her up into his arms, Marcie giggling the whole way, and planted a kiss on her cheek before waving good night to Marco and Eren. "This is so fucking weird," he murmured to himself.

Eren heard him, and chuckled sadly.

"Sleep well!" Marcie babbled. "Do you have monster nightmares even though you're big?"

Armin paused a moment, patted Marcie on the back and gave her a look. 

Marco snickered and bowed his head, and Eren burst with a surprised laugh. "Nah. We have human nightmares."

Marcie's eyes widened and Armin laughed again, carrying her down into the earth. "See you later, guys."

Then it was only Jean and the monsters. He felt it was appropriate, somehow. It'd been just them for a while now.

"What time should we get here?" One of them wondered. Jean wasn't paying much attention, lost in his own thoughts, or he would have known who.

He blinked up them, first at Marco, then Eren. It was hard to see them in the growing dark, but, somehow, he wasn't scared. Much. "Mid-afternoon, probably." He wondered briefly if they'd be received the same tomorrow as they were tonight. A certain kind of dreaminess hung in the air that wasn't normally present. It would likely burn away with the sun come morning, as would the others' willingness to trust monsters. It didn't bother him, so much as it worried him.

"You're nervous," Marco said. Jean could tell from where his voice came from. 

He gazed in his direction. Moonlight filtered through the massive leaves, and Marco's skin and clothes were pockmarked with small blotches of pale light. It hit his right eye, and Jean could see there, right then, that Marco's eyes were brown still. It was almost as if the color where hidden under a haze of blue-white snow. Like rich mulch coming through after snow melt.

Then Marco blinked, and the snow was back.

Jean cleared his throat and looked away. "Of course I am."

"Seems to be a constant state," Eren observed.

"It's not because of us, is it?" Marco asked. He seemed frightened of the prospect. "I mean, yeah, monsters and all. But is there something we can do to help?"

Jean stared up at him, at Eren. In all honesty, they did wonderful tonight. Yes, they cried, but that was to be expected. There was much to cry over. But they were patient, and kind, and graceful under such pressure.

"Patience," Jean finally said. "The way you were with me. But, probably gentler?"

The monsters laughed lightly. 

"Just patience," Jean sighed, all seriousness. "Mikasa and I are there to help, I guess. It'll be fine." He shrugged.

Marco's eyebrow lifted, but he remained silent. To him, it sounded like Jean was saying that only to speak it into existence, not because he believed it.

"How'd we do?" Eren wondered, making to stand. "We get your seal of approval?"

Jean watched him stretch to the sky. He didn't speak, but mimicked a wax stamp up toward Eren's forehead, his lips smacking once.

Eren grinned in the dark, and Marco turned back to Jean. "Get some rest, old man. You look like death's on your heels."

Jean rolled his eyes. "Wash your face, brush your fangs. Check for monsters under the bed. Anything else, mother?"

Marco smiled a gentle, warm smile. "Tuck Marcie in for me."

Jean paused, then nodded. He wore a strange expression. "Of course."

Marco warmed again. He'd start steaming soon if he kept it up. "Thank you, dearly."

He stood and walked home with Eren, didn't touch Jean at all. They both felt lighter leaving the woods, no longer did the hollowness in their chests ring in their ears.

Jean watched until he no longer felt the earth tremble with their footfalls. Then he went under the latch and straight to bed.

He didn't tuck Marcie in.

* * *

They were close. They were  _close_. He could smell them.

Here? No, no, they wouldn't be here. Maybe there. No, not there.  _Where? Where?_

He smelled the air again. Didn't sniff,  _smelled_. He  _breathed_ their scent, that mouth-watering odor of salt, perspiration.

_Fear._

North. They had to be north now. And west. Far, far to the west. He hadn't been west in ages. Not since he'd set that trap.

The  _trap._ The one in the ground. There was a spring too far down for him to reach. It was perfect for humans; they were so odd about hygiene and smells.  _Smells_ like sweat and blood. The sweet tang of copper. He could taste it already.

He could taste those  _humans_ already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Ghosts That We Knew"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ase_h0fYpA8)


End file.
